Blind
by Mango Schmango
Summary: Modern Emma. Emma, of Highbury Advertising, is immersed in her own world of matchmaking and artifice. Will she realise that there is more to life than a life of Moet, designer clothes and big paychecks? Perhaps with the aid of a certain Knightley?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Jane Austen. I'm just showing my appreciation for it in a non-profit way. No infringment intended.**

"Emma dear," croaked Mr. Woodhouse, "Do ask that nice young nurse if she could please turn up the heating. I feel as if my skin is riddled with goose bumps. No matter how many damned blankets they layer me with, I still feel the cold."

Emma patted her infirm father's arm. "No problem, dad. I'll see Sana about the heating in your room."

"I hate being in this nursing home," Mr. Woodhouse muttered, pulling the blanket up around his chin with his mobile right hand. "I don't see why I can't be at home."

"Ever since you had that serious fall and the hip replacement, you are hardly in the condition to be left home alone. Isabella and John can't have you at their house because they have three kids under the age of four, and I can't look after you at my house because I have to run your company with George. You insisted that you did not want your company to be swallowed up by Knightleys or other foreign group."

Mr. Woodhouse sighed. "I know, but I wish I could see you more often. Isabella rarely visits and most of my friends seem to be in the same position as I. It is lonely."

Emma threaded her left hand through her father's right. "I know, dad," she said regretfully, "I wish I had more time, but filling in the hole you left at Highbury is proving time consuming."

He squeezed her hand. "But you are doing a wonderful job, Emma. I couldn't have chosen a better substitute than you. Isabella was never interested in advertising, but you took to it like a duck does to water, to excuse the cliché. Your mother would be very proud of you."

Emma's heart clenched at her father's rare mention of her mother, who had been Mr. Woodhouse's secretary, then his wife after a whirlwind romance of eight months and then finally dying of cancer when Emma was only two. Mr. Woodhouse had never remarried or dated anyone else but he had been an indulgent father who spoiled her with an education at the most prestigious high school, the newest clothes and gadgets, and the most exotic holidays.

He was fifty when Emma was born, and now he was seventy-one. He also had been obsessively compulsive about hygiene and safety, a trait that Emma did not inherit. However, Isabella was neurotic about hygiene and Emma felt as if her house resembled a museum or a mausoleum, than a warm house of love and energy.

Mr. Woodhouse's drifted shut as Emma stroked a wisp of white hair from his gaunt face that had skin sagging from his cheeks and neck like molten wax. "Thanks, dad," she whispered.

"You're not planning to go to sleep on me now, are you, Mr. Woodhouse?" came a familiar voice laced with affection. "I came all this way with a fine bottle of Scotch to see you and you are already planning to go to bed. I don't want to have to drink this myself."

Emma rolled her eyes. "George, you are only able to drink one glass of Scotch before becoming completely blotto."

"Bit rich coming from the girl who gets giggly after one glass of Moet."

Emma stuck her tongue out at him good-humouredly. She was glad that he was here, as his presence always lightened the mood of the room and perked up her father's flagging spirits.

Mr. Woodhouse's eyes flew open at George Knightley's entrance. His eyes filled with warmth at the son of his deceased business partner and co-founder of Highbury, Adam Knightley. "George, it is good of you to see a poor old invalid like me."

George grinned as he shrugged off his black winter coat. "You are hardly old and decrepit, Mr. Woodhouse. Any man who can chug a glass of this gold label Scotch is still youthful in my book."

"I guess that counts you out then, George," said Emma, waggling her eyebrows.

"You're ever so witty," sarcastically responded George, kissing her cheek in greeting.

Mr. Woodhouse chuckled. "Ah, George. You are a welcome tonic. Pull up a chair. How did the meeting with Prada go?"

"They lapped up the proposal that Emma and I worked on. You are now looking at the man who will be running their spring advertising campaign." George did a mock bow.

"Bravo, George. That is the best news I have heard all day. Aren't you proud of him, Emma?"

Emma rolled her eyes at George's theatrics. "Of course I am. But you know that means you're going to have to buy me the most expensive bottle of Moet that is available as thanks for my help."

He feigned a look of long sufferance. "I knew there would be a downside to this."

Emma guffawed and playfully swatted him on the arm.

She had left school at sixteen and became an intern at her father's advertising agency, Highbury. She rapidly worked her way up from merely being the photocopy girl and coffee distributor, to her father's personal assistant. When he had the fall, George made senior partner and Emma became his junior partner. Some whispered that it was shameless act of nepotism, for how could a twenty-one year old girl become junior partner? But Emma had a sharp mind and a quick wit, with no qualms about voicing her opinions. She had always felt more comfortable around older people and most of her friends were a good decade or so older than her.

For example, her best friend George was sixteen years older than her but she rarely felt the age gap between them. They had known each other since she was born, as both their families regularly socialised and holidayed together. They both loved classic movies, Italian food, fast-cars, Moet, Manchester United and the gym. They both hated mushroom soup, early mornings, the _Sex and the City_ movie, R&B, bad drivers and disloyalty. And always, a blunt honesty existed between the two.

The nurse, Sana, sauntered over and George used his charm to procure three glass tumblers. After Sana left to get the glasses, Emma leaned over to George and murmured, "Shame on you for using Sana's undisguised lust towards you for your own advantage."

George smirked. "Well, you're reaping in the rewards too—you get to drink from those tumblers too."

Mr. Woodhouse's eyes had drifted shut again. "What are you two whispering about?"

"Nothing of interest, dad. Only George's shameless use of women," teased Emma.

"Hardly. I'm a paragon of virtue," replied George, his eyes dancing.

"How is your mother?" abruptly asked Mr. Woodhouse. "She hasn't been to see me yet."

George's jovial expression dampened for a brief moment at the mention of his estranged mother. "She's just been busy setting up her new bed and breakfast in Surrey with her new husband, Damon."

"When you next see her, tell her that I want a visit from her. I feel quite neglected," Mr. Woodhouse said a tad tetchily.

"Of course I will, Mr. Woodhouse," said George soothingly. "As soon as the honeymoon euphoria has worn off, she will come and visit you."

"Bah! Weddings! Don't see why she has to get married again. Your father was a fine chap while that new Damon of hers…he wears leather and rides a motorcycle for God's sake!"

"Mum is lonely, Mr. Woodhouse, and Damon makes her feel young again," George said, his voice deceptively benign as Emma knew that he disliked talking about his mother and her new toy-boy husband who was twenty-years younger than her.

Sana came back with the Scotch glasses and the remainder of the visit passed in their old harmonious pattern: George gaily re-telling old stories and bantering with Mr. Woodhouse, Emma fussing over her father and teasing George.

* * *

At seven pm, after having farewelled Mr. Woodhouse, George escorted Emma out to the carpark to his shiny new Mercedes. For the past six months, they had fallen into the routine of Emma taking the train and the bus to her father's nursing home each Friday night and then George would drive over to join her with some sort of alcoholic beverage. Afterwards, he would drive her home and they would share a dinner of pizza.

Emma could not quantify how much it meant to her having George coming around each Friday to see her father and treat him with dignity and respect. If he ever felt annoyance at her father's constant griping about his health and neglect by various friends and relations, he did not show it. He was only ever good-humoured and tolerant towards Mr. Woodhouse, unlike his brother and Isabella's husband, John, who could only bear to be in Mr. Woodhouse's company more than one hour before he started fidgeting and checking his watch.

"You're still not getting on with Damon?" Emma asked, as she put her seatbelt on.

George sighed and started the ignition. "No. I think he's a gold digger but mum believes he's the next Messiah. She's absolutely besotted with him and thinks John and I are bad sports."

"I didn't think he's that bad. Damon genuinely seems to like your mum."

George reversed out of the driveway, his strong features creased in a frown. "I'm worried about the amount of money she spends on him. I mean, she used her money from dad to start up this dodgy bed and breakfast at Damon's behest. Before that, she funded Damon's brief flirtation with clay cartoon animals and lost a small fortune because Damon had no idea on how to effectively run a business."

"So he's not the brightest crayon in the box—that doesn't mean he doesn't love her."

George raised an eyebrow. "You would say that, Emma. He's a six foot-five package of bronzed goodness and chiseled abs with a striking resemblance to Brad Pitt. Your sister said the exact same thing."

"Alright, alright, I won't say anything else," Emma said, raising her hands in defeat. "Take some Prozac or something and relax."

George smiled ruefully. "Sorry, Emma. I don't mean to sound like a bastard, but that man really gets to me."

Emma touched his arm. "Don't worry, I'm used to your PMS."

"Bugger off, Emma."

She could see a sliver of a grin cross his face. He could never be in a bad mood for long.

Emma crossed her legs and leaned back in her seat. "By the way, I'm assuming you're going to Harry Weston's marriage to Taylor Lombard?"

"As if I'd miss out on the chance of seeing you in a hideous peach taffeta gown and a hat that looks as if you've stolen it from Little Bo Peep."

"Watch it, mister. I think I look quite fetching in that gown."

"Of course you do," sniggered George.

"Anyway, there wouldn't be a wedding if I hadn't encouraged Taylor to respond to Harry's wooing," said Emma airily.

"I hardly think you can be credited with the union of Harry and Taylor."

"Harry would never have worked up the courage to ask Taylor out if I hadn't nudged him the right direction."

George snorted in amusement. "Emma, since you credit yourself with almost everything good in the world, I'm surprised you haven't announced that your matchmaking expertise ensured the conception of Jesus Christ."

"You're such a wit," replied Emma witheringly.

George laughed. "One of my many talents."

"Look who's got the inflated ego now."

George's gleaming mocha eyes briefly shifted from the road to her Pacific blue ones. She fought back a grin as her lips twitched. Then he turned his attention back to the road.

Comfortable silence reigned in the car for about twenty minutes.

George broke the silence. "I've brought a box set of Cary Grant movies. Are you interested in watching one with me? Perhaps _To Catch A Thief_ with the luminous Grace Kelly?"

"Along with pizza and Moet?"

"Classy combination."

"Shut-up."

"As you wish, mi'lady. Consider it a thank-you for helping me draft the proposal."

Emma smiled warmly. "That would be nice."

His eyes darted to hers. Then they diverted back to the road again.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, George pulled into the carpark of Giovanni's Pizza and Pasta shop. The beaming, bulky figure of Giovanni cheerfully greeted the pair, kissing Emma's cheek and shaking George's hand. "Ah, Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse! The usual?"

Emma grinned. "The usual, Giovanni. One family sized pizza with half Hawaiian and half Vegetarian, please."

Giovanni barked out orders to his two sons, Roberto and Louis, and then he ducked under the counter and came out with a bottle of red wine. "This is for you and Mr. Knightley, Miss Woodhouse. Something for you to take home and enjoy together."

"Thanks, Giovanni," replied Emma. "This is very kind of you."

George reached into his wallet. "Let me pay for that."

Giovanni waved his hand dismissively. "No, no. You two are my most loyal customers. Consider it a gift of thanks for creating that advertising campaign for my shop for free. Thanks to you two, my shop is booming now."

"Thank-you, Giovanni. This is completely undeserved," George said, taking the bottle.

Louis placed the pizza on the table.

"Enjoy!" said Giovanni, handing Emma the pizza.

"We certainly will," responded Emma.

* * *

Emma unlocked the door to her apartment and George followed in behind her. She kicked off her heels and dumped her bag on the table.

"Just a side note, is the delightful Karl still in your life?" asked George as he uncorked the Moet.

"No," answered Emma shortly. "He broke up with me on Wednesday."

George poured the Moet into two flute glasses. "And you didn't tell me?"

"You knew it wasn't going to last. I just didn't want to see you gloat."

"Well the guy is obviously a twat if he can't see how lucky he is to have you."

Emma gave him a half-smile. "Part of the reason was that he felt threatened by my friendship with you."

George raised an eyebrow as he opened the pizza box. "Emma, I was hardly turning lustful eyes at you and playing footsie with you while Karl was cutting up the turkey."

"When I introduced you to him at that dinner two Saturday's ago, he felt completely embarrassed when he arrived with a cheap bottle of wine and you brought a vintage wine that would have cost him an entire week's salary."

George shrugged. "It's not my fault Karl felt his masculine pride was under threat."

Emma ruffled his dark hair. "You knew exactly what you were doing, _Mr. Knightley_."

"Do you know how old I felt just then with you calling me _Mr. Knightley_?"

"You are sixteen years older than me—that's practically ancient."

George sobered and stared at his plate. "You are right. You're twenty-one and yet you're staying home on a Friday night with a thirty-seven year old man. That is certainly not natural."

Emma's brow creased. "I was only joking, George."

"You should be out clubbing, getting drunk and sticking your tongue down heaps of guy's throats, not watching a Cary Grant movie with pizza and Moet."

"Hey, you silly twat—listen to me: you're my best friend who I have known ever since I was born. I enjoy spending time with you. Besides, you do know that there are six other days of the week that I can go out and do all those things you just said?"

George finally cracked a smile. "I guess you're right."

"I _know _I'm right," she corrected him.

"Of course."

Emma flopped down beside him on the couch. "You know you can't get rid of me that easily."

He lightly brushed a strand piece of blond hair from her face. "Don't I know it."

The two then smiled at each other.

**End of the first part! Please let me you know what you think, which would be most appreciated :-) **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two **

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Jane Austen. I'm just showing my appreciation for it in a non profit way. No infringement intended. **

Emma paused by the wall length mirror in the reception of Highbury to check her appearance out. She knew she looked damn good. She was wearing a fitted waist high black pencil skirt and a pearl coloured silk blouse that showed off her slim figure to perfection. Her slender and shapely legs were encased in black stockings and black stiletto points were on her feet. Her blonde hair was tied back in a chignon with a few strands of curled hair delicately framing her face to lessen the severity of the chignon.

"Replaying the role of Narcissus, are you?" George drily asked.

Emma haughtily tipped her chin. "I can't help it if I look really hot."

"Well, you're certainly not suffering from a lack of self-confidence."

"You're just jealous that you can't pull off a skirt and heels."

"And I'm still weeping about that fact," George sardonically replied, placing his hand at the small of her back as he steered her to the reception desk to sign in.

The receptionist, Miss Bates, who was a dowdy, fifty-something spinster and a gossiping motor mouth to match, beamed at the pair. "Ah, Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse! Good morning! You look splendid this morning, Miss Woodhouse—my niece, Jane, wanted to buy that exact same outfit when she kindly took me shopping last week. Why, I said to her that I thought it would look stunning on her and then I asked if it was to impress a gentleman friend, and she went beet red and told me no, but you see, I am an expert at the intricate game of courtship and I told her that she—"

"We must get to our office, Miss Bates. Tell us the rest of the story at tea break," smoothly interrupted Emma, quickly scanning her time card. It took all her control not to mask Miss Bates' mouth with duck-tape.

"Your niece is coming to work for us next week, isn't she?" George kindly asked, ignoring a sharp poke from Emma.

Miss Bates blushed red at George's inquiry after her beloved niece. "Yes. She's coming to stay with me for a few weeks until she gets some accommodation sorted out. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you gave her a job here at Highbury. I promise that you won't regret it, as she is an accomplished lady and has won _several_ _prestigious_ awards and has run the campaign for Chanel's new perfume—surely you must have seen it on TV? I taped it when it came on TV—I can lend it to you, Mr. Knightley, if you like?"

George scanned his card through, lightly pinching Emma on the arm to stop her tapping her foot in impatience. "That would be very generous of you, Miss Bates. Now, if you excuse Emma and I, we need to get to work."

"Of course, of course. I won't detain you any longer," garbled Miss Bates, ushering them through the security door.

"You're unbelievable!" hissed Emma as they stepped into the elevator. "You encourage her to babble and babble and babble…"

"She's a lonely woman whose only chance at social interaction is here because the rest of the time she's looking after her bedridden mother. Give her a break, Emma."

Emma shrugged. "You're such a martyr, George. Why don't you and your shining halo go and work in a charity shop instead of an advertising firm?"

"I have a better idea: why don't you replace Miss Bates for a day and see how it feels cleaning up her mother's piss and changing her incontinence nappies?"

Emma held up her hands in retreat. "Hey, calm down! What crawled up your arse and died?"

George rubbed his temple. "I just wonder how an intelligent and independent girl like you can be so self-centered?"

"Excuse me?"

George sighed as they both stepped out of the elevator. "I will admit that Miss Bates' inane chatter can drive me up the wall, but she has endured a lot in her life and I think we both can show her some respect and compassion."

Emma went red, thinking back on all the times Miss Bates had baked delicious birthday cakes for her without fail and once spent all day with her when she was six and had the chickenpox because her dad had to go to France for a conference. "I guess you're right," she conceded. "It's just that I can't stand listening her go on about how fantastic her niece Jane is—ugh!"

George cracked a grin and playfully nudged her. "Jealous, eh?"

Emma relaxed and smiled brilliantly, glad that their disagreement was over. "I hope that once Saint Jane arrives at Highbury, I still remain your number one girl?"

"I must have severe sun stroke to even say this, but you always will be my number one girl, Emma. Always."

* * *

When they arrived to the airy conference room that had floor to ceiling windows that looked over Hyde Park, Harriet Smith enthusiastically greeted them. "Hey Emma, guess what?"

Emma gave her a peck on the cheek as George unpacked the contents of his briefcase on the large oval table. "What?"

"I received from last night that Royal Dolton limited edition glittery purple unicorn that I had been on the waiting list for six months for!"

Emma managed to dredge up an excited expression, not understanding her friend's obsession with unicorns, while simultaneously seeing George out the corner of her eye struggling to keep a straight face. "Awesome. How many unicorns do you have now?"

"Three-hundred and sixty-five," promptly answered Harriet. "I've been collecting since I was eighteen. I practically have no room left in my apartment any more."

"I'm surprised you can even get in your house anymore, Harriet," commented George. "Last time I went to your house, I couldn't even find a place on your couch because you had so many unicorn pillows."

Harriet giggled, her glittery purple glasses gleaming under the morning reflection from the windows. She was a plump woman of twenty-five who had a penchant for purple and pink clothes, and _Mills & Boon_ romance novels. Today, she was dressed in a tight purple dress to her knees, a bright pink cardigan, sparkling pink and purple bangles, pink pumps, a shiny pink ring, and her auburn brown hair was curled into tight ringlets.

"George, you know my unicorns are my babies."

He chuckled. "Indeed I do."

Robert (Rob) Martin strode in without any ceremony and casually dropped a crinkled manila folder on the table. "Good morning ladies and gents."

He was a stocky man of twenty-seven with a goatee and a military cropped hair cut. Emma barely tolerated him, finding him to be a beery lout who enjoyed watching football, crude jokes, any movies with Bruce Willis or Keanu Reeves, and ties with stupid cartoons on them. George, for some alien reason to Emma, enjoyed Rob's company and the pair often went to Manchester games and pubs together.

Rob fished out a crumpled plastic bag. "Harriet, I was at beer exhibition in Essex on the weekend, and I saw this and thought of you."

Harriet went red. "For me?"

"Yeah," Rob said awkwardly.

Harriet eagerly opened the bag and pulled out a beer bottle that had a unicorn on the label. Her face lit up and she let out a little squeal. "Oh, Rob! This is the limited O'Reilly beer from 1968 when they briefly tried to appeal to Britain's female demographic. I've been trying for years to get hold of a bottle like this!"

Emma regarded the beer bottle with barely concealed contempt. A beer bottle? Puh-lease. Why didn't Rob just go and bring Harriet a McHappy Meal? Emma could never imagine George presenting a woman with a beer bottle.

George grinned and playfully cuffed Rob on the arm. "You charmer, Rob!"

Harriet giggled gave Rob a quick peck on the cheek. "Thank-you."

"Anytime," Rob replied, ducking his head in embarrassment.

They all took seats around the table. George glanced at his watch. "Does anyone know where Harry and Taylor are? I'm assuming they'll arrive before Mr. Elton arrives to discuss a spin for his new program."

Harriet blushed. "Taylor said that Harry was taking her to brekkie this morning. They probably got sidetracked."

Just before George was going to reply, the door swung open and a giggling Harry and Taylor stumbled in, whispering in a lovey-dovey fashion.

"Sorry, George!" breathed Taylor, sitting down beside Emma as Harry mumbled his apology and took his seat beside George.

George's lips quirked. "I'm glad that you two managed to put aside your connubial bliss to get here."

"Sorry, mate," said Harry contritely. "We passed Tiffany's and my girl got distracted by the giant diamonds."

"Harry!" admonished Taylor, though her mocha eyes were dancing.

George clapped Harry on the back. "You know I can't stay mad at the groom and bride to-be! As long as you turn to work on time, you can spend the entire bloody night at Tiffany's if you please."

Harry chuckled. "Thanks, mate."

Harry and George had been close friends for about seventeen years. Harry was forty-five and a decent, generous, down-to-earth man who was slim with a shock of graying black hair and unusually green eyes. He had once served in the army during the Falklands war and had been married in his teens to a woman named Cheryl, who was three months pregnant at the time, and gave birth to a boy called Frank.

Cheryl turned out to be a whore and a drunkard, and ran off to Barcelona with Harry's barber, leaving one-year old Frank with Harry. Harry, impoverished and scarred from his war experiences, gave Frank to his sister Flora and her husband Thomas Churchill, who were unable to conceive children. Harry went back to university to get a degree in advertising. He still kept in close contact with his son, seeing him once a fortnight, and when he secured a job at Highbury, he sent Flora and Thomas regular cheques to financially support them for adopting his son.

Taylor had been engaged once, but her fiancée turned out to be a conman and already had three kids and a wife in Norfolk. She was forty-four and curvaceous, with flawless ebony skin and a gentle, giving character. She had been practically a second mother to Emma, and Mr. Woodhouse doted on her excessively. She wore muted, stylish clothes of grey and black with expensive silver jewelry.

"Now that we're all here, I hope we can discuss what we are doing for this advertising campaign for Elton's _Songs of Praise _program," George began. "His show ratings have slumped dramatically in the recent weeks and he is charging us with the task of finding a new advertisement to draw in new viewers. Any ideas?"

"Have a couple of nuns strip off in an inflatable pool, cover themselves in sanctified wine and then lick it off each other?" deadpanned Rob.

"You're disgusting," said Emma, disdain dripping from her every syllable, while Harriet giggled delightedly.

Harry fought to keep his face straight, and Taylor, who was a practicing Catholic, rolled her eyes.

George smirked. "That idea would be fine, Rob, if this was a porn network, and if Elton was into a kinky form of Catholicism. However, I doubt Elton—who is an evangelical and not a Catholic—would accept your sacrilegious soft porn idea because he wouldn't want to isolate his wealthy, family-values Christian financiers."

Emma could barely keep the disgust from her gaze as she observed Harriet nearly leaning over Rob as if he was David Letterman in the flesh. Honestly, couldn't Harriet have a little bit of taste? Rob's humour was infantile—he still laughed at toilet jokes, for goodness sakes! Emma would have to do something about Harriet's weakness for Rob. She could do so much better than that twat.

* * *

After the meeting ended, Emma and Harry accompanied George to his car to see Elton at his television studio.

As usual, Emma grabbed the front seat while Harry comfortably lounged in the back. She flipped open George's glove box, trying to find some mints.

George quirked an eyebrow. "What are you looking for, Em?"

"Your porn stash," she deadpanned, pulling out a container of mints.

Harry guffawed. "You mean his _Dirty Nurses_ collection?"

"I won't even bother enquiring into the dirty activities you guys get up to," Emma laughed, popping a mint into her mouth with particular relish at George.

"Best you didn't, Em, because George and I have sworn ourselves to secrecy with a cool handshake and matching tattoos."

Emma asked, "Where did you get your tattoo, Harry?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

George grinned as he reversed out of the car park while Emma rolled her eyes good-naturedly and flicked on the radio, causing Nirvana's _Smells Like Teen Spirit_ to blare through the speakers. Emma wrinkled her nose. "You have such crap taste in music, George."

"I agree with you there, Em. George is notorious for his bad taste in music,' backed up Harry from the backseat.

"Hey! You've just betrayed the brotherhood, mate! I'll now have to get a skin graft to remove the tattoo of your face from my buttock," protested George, though his eyes were glinting in amusement.

Emma flicked the radio to a commercial station that was playing Beyonce's _Halo_. With one hand on the steering wheel, George turned the dial back to Nirvana. Emma returned it Beyonce.

"Christ, Emma. You take my mints and use my tissues, yet you can't even let me listen to the music I want."

"How about I pay you ten euros a mint, then, Mr. Tightarse? Will that ease your wounded masculine pride?"

"You two are behaving like an old married couple," chuckled Harry.

Emma felt George tense up beside her.

"Relax, George. Harry is not going to officiate our marriage ceremony from the backseat," joked Emma while wondering why George seemed to be briefly off-humour at such an innocent joke.

George dredged up a smile. "Thank God. I don't think I would be able to put up with your high-maintenance self twenty-four hours a day and cater to your every need!"

Emma childishly stuck her tongue out at him and George let her keep the radio station on Beyonce.

As Emma leaned back in her seat and put her sunglasses on, she missed the covert glance that George and a clearly apologetic Harry shared.

**The End of Part II. Next chapter Elton and Jane will make an appearance....**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Austen. I'm just showing my appreciation for it in a non-profit way. **

"Identification please, sir," barked a heavyset security guard at the high-tech security gate of Elton's mansion that was both his residence and television studio.

George obliged and showed the guard his driver's license. The guard grunted, and then tersely gestured for the two other guards to open the gate.

With a loud creak, the magnificent Gothic iron-gate heaved open and George slowly navigated the car up the lush green lawn.

Harry whistled as he stuck his head out the window to get a better view of the classical Greek statues that littered the lawn surrounded by exotic flowers, large ferns and picturesque oak trees.

"Who knew serving God could be so lucrative?" drily said George, looking unimpressed at the lavish surroundings.

"Wow. This is amazing—he has peacocks!" breathed Emma, pointing to a majestic peacock that imperiously eyed their car.

"Figures," muttered George.

Emma ignored him.

The car edged up the crest of the hill that flattened out into a gravel path with a grand ornamental fountain. The faux-Grecian Elton mansion loomed over them.

"My God," whistled Harry for the second time as he unbuckled his seat belt.

The tanned man in a smart grey suit and a brilliant white smile that Emma assumed was Elton, strode over to their car followed a four other figures dressed in burgundy uniforms, who helped them out of the car.

Elton gave George and Harry an energetic handshake and then he paused in front of Emma. "And you are?"

"Emma Woodhouse," responded Emma, holding out her hand for him to shake.

Elton grinned broadly. "Please Miss Woodhouse, let me escort you and your colleagues to my studio."

"Call me Emma. Miss Woodhouse is so formal."

"Well, you can call me Elton, then."

When Elton saw Emma's quizzical face, his smile became even broader. "I don't particularly like my first name, so I prefer my friends and associates to use my surname, Elton."

Emma laughed as Elton guided her up the marble steps while George and Harry trailed behind. "So what is your first name then? Potato? Mercedes?"

"You are a witty woman, Emma. No…my parents named me Eversham. But I hated it because it sounds so artificial. Elton is an everyman's name, and my flock also won't think that I am setting myself up above them."

Emma could see George and Harry exchanging identical looks of disbelief. She, however, found Elton to be an engaging man. It did also help that his house was like something out of _The OC_.

Of course, Emma had grown up privileged, but her childhood house was nothing like this mansion—if one could call it a mansion—that Elton owned. As Elton talked on about how he got into preaching, Emma suddenly thought how good Harriet would fit in here. She was a bright, bubbly person who interacted well with people—all these attributes would be just right for the prospective wife of a television preacher. She would be the homely, earthy presence that Elton's glamorous, tailored persona lacked.

"Emma, I can see my humble house that was built by the fruits God endowed me with, has impressed you," said Elton, amusement lacing his voice at Emma's inattention.

"It does appear that God's presence is stamped into every crevice of this grand estate," commented George, his face a perfect mask of innocence.

Elton, completely missing George's irony, beamed and clasped his hand on George's shoulder. "You are right, George, you are right. God has blessed all of us, but I do feel that God has favored me especially these past few years."

Harry's eyes twinkled as he steered Emma out of earshot of Elton and a bemused George. "That man is so thick skinned. Even I could detect George's sardonic tone!"

Emma rolled his eyes. "George needs to lighten up. Elton is very accomplished and has heaps of money…I think George is still in a bad mood from the car. I don't know why he's being so…"

"Pig-headed?" supplied George, entering their conversation and gently placing his hand on Emma's elbow.

"I couldn't have put it better myself," witheringly replied Emma.

Elton wedged himself between George and Emma. "Who's pig-headed?"

"Don't worry, Elton," Emma said sweetly, as she deliberately walked on ahead with Elton, "It's just a private joke between George and I that is beginning to wear."

"Elton!" came a high-pitched voice. "Where have you been?"

A petite woman with a beehive hairstyle that had enough hairspray in it to make it an honorary member of the Stonehenge, a tight fitting lavender dress that showed off her tanned and toned body, and stiletto heels that looked as if they could cut through a thick rump of steak, came forward. Emma nearly choked on the woman's overpowering perfume.

"George, Harry and Emma—this is my PA, Honoria Lexington, whose father kindly lent me the money to begin my journey with God. Honoria, these are the three advertising people from Highbury."

Honoria's smile for George and Harry was brittle, and she barely acknowledged Emma. She seemed to be around Elton's age—perhaps twenty-eight or nine. Emma thought Honoria could actually be very pretty if she learned to smile and relax her stiff features more.

"Right, could you please all follow me to the studio so I can show you around?"

Emma was amused to see how Honoria's voice became syrupy when she addressed Elton: "And Elton, your brother in Christ, Reggie Baxter, is on line one in your office to discuss your upcoming show."

"Bless you, Honoria." Elton turned to Emma, George and Harry. "I hope that I will be able to catch you before you leave."

"Of course," said Harry.

Another round of handshaking was completed before Honoria led them down a narrow corridor that was dominated by a wall-to-ceiling oil portrait of Elton holding a copy of the Bible. Emma was impressed.

Harry whistled for about the forth time of their visit. "When was this done?"

"Last year, after he was offered to do a preaching tour of America," said Honoria with pride etched into every cadence of her words.

They all continued down the corridor to the studio that was set up like a giant chapel. Lilies lined the aisles and the stage was a blinding white colour. It was so clean that Emma thought her sister Isabella would have been in heaven here. Behind the altar was an impressive stain-glassed window backdrop.

"This is where Elton films his show," commentated Honoria. "We hired you to find a new marketing niche that could help Elton break into mainstream breakfast TV, instead of being marooned at 12am on a station that lonely old women with cats watch. We want Elton to be able to park a flag on the _Richard and Judy_ show, and we have seen what Highbury has done for relatively obscure labels and personalities—you have catapulted them into the media."

"We have come up with a few proposals that you can look over, Honoria," George began, every inch the composed businessman. Even after all the years of knowing him, Emma loved seeing George negotiating business deals. He just seemed so unflappable and strong.

Honoria accepted the folder from George and emotionlessly scanned through the documents. "Well, I do like what you've come up with. Your idea of appealing to a wider audience through ads using members of the community is probably the best here. How do you suppose we do that?"

"As it says there on the proposal, Honoria, we suggest that you get Elton out among everyday sort of people—into the heart of the community. If you confine Elton to this mansion, it isolates people who juggle two jobs, a mortgage and three kids."

Honoria pursed her lips. "Elton worked very hard to get where he is now. If common people are still living in housing commission flats or are juggling two jobs, it's probably because they are alcoholics and drug addicts."

Harry swiftly stepped in. "Honoria, George wasn't suggesting that Elton did not deserve his success; merely that getting Elton to film a segment at the local soup kitchen or at a homeless shelter would add to his credibility as a man of God."

"Think about it like this: if you get Elton in a public space—such as a soup kitchen—it will be highly likely that a local news service will pick up on it and come along to report on it. Media exposure on top of our new community-aimed ads, would propel Elton's show from the graveyard shift and into mainstream TV," added Emma, seeing George's swift look of pride at her.

The idea of local news stations coming along seemed to draw Honoria in more than the idea of involving the communities. "I like your way of thinking, Emmeline—"

"Emma."

"Right. Emma. Well, I will draw up a contract that you can take back to look over. You have three days to consider our terms." She glanced at her diamante watch. "I'll guide you to our dining hall where Gaston will serve you lunch. By the time you eat, I'll have your contract ready to take."

Behind Honoria's back, Harry waggled his eyebrows, mouthing 'cold bitch'.

* * *

On the car ride back to Highbury, they had to divert to a chemist so George could pick up a packet of Panadol for his headache.

"Poor baby," cooed Emma, her left hand massaging the tension points in his neck as he drove. George shuddered, looking as if he was in great pain for a moment.

Emma's joking demeanor vanished. "Did I just hurt you?"

George managed a smile as he choked out: "No, Em. You are a good massager. Very good."

Harry was concerned. "Mate, you're not going to faint are you?"

This time, George's laugh was genuine. "Nah. Just I have a migraine after watching Elton strut around mouthing empty platitudes. If he said to me 'bless you' once more, I think I might have punched him. I doubt a man of God would be living in such opulence, let alone shunning people in our community who really need help."

"He's a con for sure, but he's a rich con who could inject some much needed funds into Highbury," agreed Harry.

"You guys are so cynical!" exclaimed Emma.

"And you are an eternal optimist, Em," replied George.

"So?"

"Nothing's wrong with it. I happen to think your undimmed optimism is one of the things I like best about you."

Emma regarded him with suspicion. "Are you making fun of me?"

George's eyes darted quickly from the road to her. "Do I look like I am?"

Emma studied him for a moment. Then she grinned. "No."

"I'm glad I passed your honesty test," he drily responded.

"I do have high standards."

George snorted, but then he became serious. "You did well today with Honoria, Emma. You were smart in appealing to her media-whore side—you are a smooth operator."

Emma ducked her head, feeling uncommonly embarrassed, but she quickly hid it as she quipped: "Well, now you owe me a bottle of Moet."

Harry hooted. "Now you've done it, George!"

George rolled his eyes in mock sufferance as he pulled into the Highbury car park. "I regret the day I introduced Emma to Moet."

"And I introduced you to Tiffanys," she retorted. "Without my expertise, your past girlfriends would have got costume jewelry from a bargain bin."

"You two are so high maintenance with your expensive tastes," laughed Harry.

"Coming from the man who has a collection of four vintage cars," rejoined George, his eyes dancing.

* * *

The triumvirate was still exchanging jokes and barbs as they entered Highbury's reception and saw Miss Bates fluttering like an electrified chook around a slim, dark-haired woman.

"Mr. Knightley!" Miss Bates exclaimed, "This is my niece, Jane Fairfax! She has surprised has all by arriving a week early…doesn't she look so well? She has her portfolio to show you, Mr. Knightley—isn't that amazing?"

George smiled welcomingly at Jane and held out his hand for her to shake. "Welcome to Highbury Advertising, Jane."

"Thank-you, George. It is great to finally work with you for my aunt has always spoken so highly of you and this company," said Jane in a low, husky voice.

"You've already met Harry, but this is Mr. Woodhouse's daughter, Emma," continued George.

Emma thought that Jane seemed aloof and self-possessed. Her eyes were a startling midnight blue, framed by long black lashes, while her ash coloured hair was tied back in a tight bun that emphasised her sharp facial bone structure. She was not beautiful in the classical sense, but it was her unusual eyes that emanated an aura of alluring mystery.

Jane's cool eyes flickered as she observed Emma. "Nice to meet you, Emma."

"We finally get to see the ever-elusive Jane Fairfax. Your aunt has spoken so much of you, that I feel as if I know all about you before I've even met you."

Emma had meant to sound jaunty, but Jane remained impassive, and merely nodded her composed head. "That's nice," she murmured.

Emma fought the urge to retort with something sarcastic. Instead, she gave Jane an utterly insincere smile. "I hope you settle in well."

"I'm sure I will," and with that, Jane turned back to Miss Bates who was jabbering to Harry and George about Jane's many talents.

A slighted Emma swallowed hard as a red flush stole up her neck to her cheeks like a beetroot stain. George turned over his shoulder and saw the isolated Emma. He quickly excused himself from the small circle of Miss Bates, Jane and Harry, and joined Emma.

"Are you alright?" he asked in a low voice.

Humiliatingly, Emma found she could not articulate a single sentence. George immediately caught on and he turned back to the others. "Emma and I will go to the Tree Box Café and pick up a bunch of sandwiches, coffees and pastries for lunch so we can have a tiny celebration to welcome Jane."

"That would be great!" Harry said enthusiastically. "Do you need any cash, mate?"

"I'll be fine. Thanks, anyway."

"You are so kind, Mr. Knightley!" enthused Miss Bates, who then turned to an emotionless Jane and started extolling George's virtues as if he was a latter day saint.

As soon as they were out of Highbury and walking down the street to the Tree Box Café, George briefly squeezed her shoulders. "Are you alright?"

Emma ignored George's solicitude and exploded out with: 'God, she is such a cold bitch!"

"I'm assuming you're talking about Jane?" George asked mildly, finding Emma's rapid switches in emotion exasperatingly amusing.

"Who else? That pretentious ice maiden in her 'oh I'm so reserved and mysterious: please pay attention to me' attitude—she can fall under a bus for all I care!"

Emma was annoyed that George was not taking her dislike for Jane seriously. She pointed an accusing finger at him. "You think she's great, don't you?"

"I'm sure she didn't mean to come across rude. She's probably just shy."

"You're avoiding my question."

"You're sounding like a twat," George said bluntly.

"Real mature."

"Jesus. What is this? The Inquisition?"

"You're dodging my question."

"You're being irrational."

"Irrational?" Emma enquired, her voice rising an octave.

George held up his hands. "Fine. You're not irrational."

Emma smirked. "Good."

"But you're a heinous bitch who should not be allowed near sharp tools."

Emma would have flown at him if she did not see the gleam in his eyes. She snorted and hit him on the arm as a smile spread across her face. "You bastard!"

George did a mock bow. "Thank-you, thank-you."

Despite her desire to remain in a bad mood, Emma could not stop her happiness from rising again. Trust George to coax her out of it. "Sorry."

"No problem. But can you do me one favour?"

"Anything."

"Can you please make an effort with Jane and try not to gouge her eyes out?"

"I'll be nice to her only for your sake."

"I'm touched."

"Be careful with the witty repartee, mister. Otherwise I'll kick you in the nuts."

"If I buy you a latte and a Danish pastry, would that protect my necessary reproductive organs for at least a few hours?"

Emma grinned. "You have a deal."

**End of Part Three. Please let me know what you thought as it would be most appreciated. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Jane Austen. I'm just showing my appreciation for it in a non-profit and non-infringement way to encourage people to pick up the real **_**Emma**_** and read it. **

"George, have you seen my red Prada heels?" called Emma from the bathroom, cursing as she spotted a hole in her sheer stockings. "Crap!"

"No. I only see a black pair by your door. Will you hurry up? We're going to be late for Elton's so-called charity ball. We should have picked up Harriet, Harry and Taylor by now."

"Relax your jockstrap! I'll be out in a moment!"

Emma decided to scrap stockings and just go barelegged instead. She attempted to zip the zipper of her figure hugging black mini dress with little success. "George!" she bellowed, "Come here!"

George appeared at the bathroom door. "You rang, master?"

"You're sooooo funny. Can you just zip me up?"

"Would you like me to fluff up your pillows, too?" he sarcastically asked.

"_Please_?"

George sighed but complied; his fingers cool against her warm, freshly showered skin as he pulled the zipper up.

"Do you like the dress?"

"Too much boob and thigh."

"_George_."

"You look very…_nice_."

Emma rolled her eyes. "God, trying to get a compliment out of you, George, is like getting Sarah Palin to read a book. No wonder your other relationships didn't last long."

"I'm bleeding from my heart at your cruelty."

Emma stuck her tongue out at him. "Well, before you bleed to death, you can do something useful and put this necklace on me."

Emma noticed an unreadable expression flash through George's eyes as she gave him an open box containing a delicate silver necklace with a sapphire pendant that matched Emma's eyes. "This necklace is the one I gave you for your birthday this year."

"Ten points for you, Sherlock. You know, despite your limited expertise in the compliments department, you do buy beautiful jewelry."

"I'm flattered," he caustically replied as he gently slid the necklace around her neck. Emma could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck with the light oceanic scent of his Versace Fraiche cologne (that she had brought him the previous Christmas) tingeing the air. His fingers then lightly traced over the chain down to the pendant to ensure that it sat properly.

Emma and George then stood in front of the mirror for a moment in silence. Emma wondered what George was thinking of because of his intent expression, and was about to ask him, when George's face cleared and he broke the silence by piping up: "At least the necklace takes the focus away from your boobs!"

Emma hit him on the arm in response.

* * *

The party at the Elton mansion was in full force by the time Emma, George, Harry, Taylor and Harriet arrived. George flashed his ID at the same security guard from his previous visit, and rolled the car slowly up the hill where a harassed looking valet promptly took over George's car.

Harriet was in a near daze at the estate's grandeur. She was wearing a hot pink gown with a plunging neckline and cheap costume jewelry. Personally, Emma would never have worn such a tacky number, let alone bling that was more suited to a gangster mole, and purple glasses that looked as if Harriet had stolen them from Dame Edna Everage.

"I'm so excited, Em," whispered Harriet, sliding her arm through the crook of Emma's arm.

Emma bit her lip to hide the smile that threatened to spread over her face at George's mock look of sufferance. "Me too, Harriet," she agreed.

Waiters holding silver trays of champagne and red and white wine immediately bombarded them. Emma barely had enough time to take a glass before Elton whisked over to her.

"Emma, it is great to see you have arrived," he enthusiastically greeted her. "You look beautiful in your dress."

"Thanks, Elton." Emma gestured for Harriet to come over. "I want to introduce you to one of my close friends and colleagues: Harriet Smith."

Elton's eyes shifted to Harriet. He graciously held out his hand. "Anyone who is a friend of Emma is a friend of mine."

Harriet giggled. "It is so great to finally meet you. Your show has been the hot topic of conversation at work."

"Really?" asked Elton.

"Oh yes."

There was a pause. Emma looked between Elton and Harriet, sighing inwardly. Geez, did she have to do everything? Honestly, Harriet could be so dense. "Elton," began Emma brightly. "I've been taking photos of Harriet for my folio. You see, I've become interested in photography, and I've taken some classic black and white shots of Harriet, who looks absolutely luminous in them."

"I have no doubt that Harriet would appear in all God's glorious form under your keen eye," complimented Elton.

Emma quickly shot Harriet an encouraging look.

"Perhaps," ventured Elton, "I would be allowed to see these photos of yours, so I can see what wonders you have done for Harriet here?"

Emma grinned, pleased to see Harriet's face brighten and Elton's interest in her friend. "That would be great. Harriet could be a bloody model, Elton. She looks amazing in black and white."

"I'm sure she does," concurred Elton, handing Emma another glass of champagne.

The music changed to a slow romantic tune. "How about you take Harriet for a dance so she can tell you all about her pictures?"

"If that would make you happy?" asked Elton.

"Of course. Harriet is a fantastic dancer," assured Emma.

"Then I'd be more than happy to," said Elton. He turned to Harriet. "Would you like to dance with me?"

Behind Elton's back, Emma gave Harriet an enthusiastic two thumbs up. Harriet smiled radiantly. "I'd love to."

Then Elton led Harriet onto the dance floor, chattering to her. Harriet turned back to Emma and mouthed 'thank-you'. Emma raised her glass to her. Emma then saw Honoria glaring at her, but Emma merely smiled winningly and impudently raised her champagne glass to her. Her smile softened as she observed Harry and Taylor dancing entwined together, completely engrossed in their intimate connection. Now, they were one of her true success stories. If only Harriet and Elton could be her next.

She was brought out of her musing by a soft clasp of her elbow. "Are you on the singles bench, Em?"

"Piss off, George."

He unrepentantly grinned at her. "Would you like to dance?"

"With anyone but you."

George shrugged. "Well, it's either me or the fat greasy man who has been eye fucking you for the past fifteen minutes."

Emma wrinkled her nose. "Fine. I guess I'll endure your company."

George smoothly led her to the dance floor and they started dancing together. Despite her protests, Emma knew that George was an accomplished dancer who did not give a girl severe injuries by stepping on toes. Emma always found it an effortless experience dancing with him.

George bent his mouth by her ear, his breath tickling her skin. "By the way, are you trying to match that prick with Harriet?"

"I'm assuming that by 'prick', you mean Elton?"

"You've got it in one."

Emma haughtily stared at him. "So what if I am?"

"For one thing, you know that Rob has a thing for Harriet—"

"Even a blind man could see that—but Harriet can do so much better. And besides, Rob has never acted on his feelings, let alone doing anything remotely romantic for her."

"Emma…"

"Look. Harriet would be a good match for Elton. She is down to earth, generous and big-hearted. She would be a great asset to his work and life."

"Emma, the only person that Elton cares about is himself."

"You're wrong," said Emma defiantly. "Elton explicitly told me he would love to see the photos I took of her."

"Wow. That's a declaration of love."

"You can be sarcastic all you want, but Harriet is perfect for him."

"You shouldn't interfere between Rob and Harriet—let alone with Elton. This scheme of yours is going to blow up in your face because Harriet would never fit into Elton's lifestyle."

"You always think you're right—which you're not."

"Bit rich coming from you. When have you ever listened to anything I've told you?"

"Never."

"Exactly."

The pair stared at each other, both refusing to back down from their positions.

"Look, let's not fight about this. You just have to accept that Harriet can do a lot better than Rob."

"No way, Em. You can't just play with people's relationships as if they are dolls."

The song ended just as Emma pulled away from George. "I don't care what you think—I know that my view is correct."

George pinched the bridge of his nose in barely suppressed frustration. "Emma, please…"

"I don't want to hear anymore about it. Anyway, Elton is coming over to us. At the moment, I'd prefer to dance with him than you."

"Don't be a silly—"

But Emma did not hear the rest of George's sentence because Elton sidled up to them with Harriet trailing behind. "Hello Emma…and George. Emma, would you like to share this dance with me so you can tell me all about your photography of Harriet?"

"That would be great," consented Emma, holding out her hand to Elton while shooting George a triumphant look.

_George may be sixteen years older than me_, _but_, thought Emma, _it does not mean he is right all the time_.

* * *

"Guess who I found wandering around like someone with a severe case of geographic dyslexia?" buoyantly exclaimed Taylor at lunch break one week later.

"Who?" asked Harry, looking up from his paper at his soon-to-be wife.

"Your son Frank!"

Harry shot up as a man of about twenty-seven strode into the room. The men embraced tightly. "You trickster! I thought you said that you weren't going to be here until next week. I thought I was going to have the bucks night without you!"

Frank lazily grinned. "I wanted to surprise you, dad."

Emma regarded Frank with interest. He was attractive, with tousled honey-coloured hair and a laconic, confident gait.

Harry could barely contain his excitement at his son's surprise arrival. "I'll have to introduce you to everyone." He pointed to George. "This is George Knightley, my boss."

Frank shook hands with George with a devilish grin as his eyes flickered over George's Saville Row pinstriped tie: "My grandpa has the exact same tie as you."

"I'm glad that I remind you so much of your dear grandfather," replied George in a distinctly acerbic tone.

Harry laughed delightedly as Frank put his arm around Taylor. "That's my boy! Always being cheeky! Now, onto the rest of the gang…this is Jane Fairfax, the niece of our receptionist, Miss Bates—"

"We've already met. She used to go out with a close friend of mine. Long time, no see, eh Jane? You quite broke his heart, you know. I had to take him out to cheap strip joints to cheer him up."

"Indeed," frostily said Jane. Emma smiled in satisfaction at Jane's evident discomfiture. When George glanced at her, Emma gave him a simpering smile of innocence.

"I'm Emma," Emma greeted Frank, subtly edging Jane away and holding out her hand.

A thrill shot through her at his evident appreciation of her. "Mr. Woodhouse's daughter?"

"Yes."

He held onto her hand a little longer than courtesy dictated, and then carefully released it. "You look like the kind of girl who likes a good bar and dance?"

Emma gave him a sparkly smile. "How did you guess?"

"Because you're the youngest and prettiest thing in the room."

Emma coyly raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to get me to put a good word in for you to my father?"

Frank playfully smirked. "Far from it. I want to find out the best joints in town, and you seem like the best tour guide available. If I wanted to go to the local bookstore and poetry reading, I would have asked George over here."

Emma could not help but giggle at Frank's sheer confidence and flirtatious manner. She had never met anyone like him before. "If you're free tonight, I'm more than happy to be your tour guide."

"There you go, Frank," laughed Taylor. "You can have no better guide than Emma."

"Don't I know it?" Frank asked, giving Emma a glance.

"Aren't you planning to go to see your father tonight, Em?" asked George.

Emma waved her hand dismissively. "Just one night off won't kill him. I'll see him tomorrow or something."

"Way to kill the party, George," Frank said. "Do you want me to get gang-raped by a bunch of big lads with shovels because I accidentally wandered into the red-light district?"

"It can be organised."

Emma shot George a warning look. She knew that his comment, though said with a light exterior, was laced with sarcasm. George and her had been on uneasy terms since Elton's fundraiser, and their conversations had since then, been laced with tension. In fact, Emma was glad to have any excuse to get out of their regular Friday visits to her dad.

Harry chuckled affectionately, ruffling his son's hair. "Frank, you wag."

"I need to get back to work," Jane coolly announced, gathering up her purse and manila folder, and departing from the room without a further glance at Frank.

"So do I," concurred George, rapidly following suit.

"What killjoys, eh?" muttered Frank to Emma.

Emma's annoyance at George heightened. "Totally agree."

Taylor kissed Frank on the cheek. "It is so good to have you here, Frank. You have made our wedding complete."

"Ditto, son," added Harry with his arm around Taylor's waist.

"It's great to be here. Flora sent her apologies and wished that she could have joined you for the wedding."

Harry's jovial persona briefly slipped. "Well, her constant illnesses can't be helped, can they?"

"Harry," murmured Taylor. "Don't start that now. Maybe Flora is genuinely sick."

Harry shrugged. "You're right. Let's move onto more pleasant topics of conversation."

Frank turned back to Emma. "I'll come back here at five, and you can take me to the best joints around here."

"I'd like that."

Rob and Harriet entered the room. "Welcome, mate!" raucously greeted Rob, giving Frank a wind-knocking clap on the back. "George told us you had arrived. Finally we get to see the elusive Frank Churchill in the flesh!"

Frank grinned. "Do I match up to my dad's expectations?"

"Your dear dad paints you as a veritable saint. I'm just looking for the halo."

"We'll have a few beers at my dad's buck's night tomorrow, and then you might just see my horns grow."

"I like you already," chortled Rob.

Harriet stood shyly to the side. Frank gave her a mock bow. "And who is this glittering lady in pink and purple?"

Harriet went bright red. "Harriet."

Emma felt a prick of jealousy. She did not like to see Frank turning his charm on someone else. "She's lost for words at your gallantry."

Frank nearly blinded Emma with a mega-watt smile. "You've got a sharp tongue."

"You've got a good smile," flirtatiously countered Emma while a surge of satisfaction filled her at holding all Frank's attention upon her instead of Harriet.

Frank glanced at his watch. "I better go. I need to get to my hotel and unpack. It was great meeting all of you—and I'll see you tonight, Emma."

"Taylor and I will see you to your taxi," said Harry.

Once Harry, Taylor and Frank left, Harriet let out a squeal. "Frank is so attracted to you! He couldn't stop staring at you."

Emma smirked. "He's pretty sexy, isn't he?"

Harriet impulsively hugged Emma. "He's so much better than that moron you dated before."

"I agree with you. He's charming and sexy—what a killer combination."

"George seemed like he was in a weird mood—so did Jane."

Emma snorted. "George couldn't take a joke. He and Jane should hook up and trade notes on humourlessness. However, speaking of attraction—I think Elton was pretty much giving you sex eyes the other week at the party."

"Really? You think?"

"I _know_ he was," corrected Emma. "He stayed by our side all night and he really wanted to see the black and white photos I had taken of you for my folio."

"I think I might leave you two ladies to gossip," said Rob, appearing rather out of place.

Emma certainly was not going to stop him and Harriet merely waved him goodbye before turning eagerly back to Emma. "Did he say anything about me when I left to get us all drinks?"

"I showed him the picture I had taken of one of the black and white shots of you on my phone, and he was really impressed. He said he had never seen anything more beautiful before. He was in complete raptures about you. I don't think you need to do anything more than reel him in with a cleavage showing top."

Harriet bit her lip. "What about Rob? I mean, I still kind of have feelings for him…"

Emma raised an eyebrow, feeling as if she was the worldly one while Harriet was a naïve sixteen-year old or something. "Harriet, you've been waiting around for Rob to ask you out for three years. Has he once said anything to you that displays he is attracted to you in the same way that you are to him?"

"Ummm….he gave me that unicorn beer bottle."

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

"And what has Elton done for you?"

"Well, he's invited us to his next party, and he complimented the photos of me… and he also danced with me twice."

"Exactly. You can't wait around forever for Rob—you need to get yourself out there to someone who would really appreciate you."

Harriet straightened herself up. "You're right, Em. I'm not going to pine away like some moron for Rob who has never asked me out other than to a soccer game and given me a crappy beer bottle. Besides, Elton is rich and very attentive to me."

Emma smiled widely. "Good on you!"

Harriet hugged Emma once more, and then happily left the lunchroom humming. Emma was extremely proud. Finally she could wean Harriet from that loser Rob and onto someone more accomplished like Elton. She was sure Harriet would thank her in the long run.

And if her own luck with Frank continued, maybe she might have a third triumph in matchmaking…

**The end of part four. Please let me know what you thought as it would be most appreciated! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Jane Austen. ****I'm making no money whatsoever. **

After her lunch break ended, Emma sauntered down the corridor to George's office, wanting to know why he was taking Frank's good-natured jokes so personally. She felt as if she was floating after the whirlwind presence of Frank and she did not want the tension between herself and George to mar her happiness.

As she rounded the corner, her heart oddly clenched at the sight of Jane perched on the corner of George's desk with a pad of paper and hastily scribbling notes as he spoke.

She opened the door without knocking.

"Feel free to knock, Emma," said George sardonically, his face blank.

Jane raised an eyebrow at Emma.

"Can I please speak to you_ alone_, George?" asked Emma, casting a meaningful glance at Jane.

An unruffled Jane merely pursed her lips at Emma's obvious insinuation for her to get lost. George calmly shook his head. "I'm busy. As you can see, Jane and I are actually doing work."

"You were rude to Frank, you know. He was only teasing and you behaved like a little kid," retorted Emma.

George ran a hand through his hair in an agitated manner. "I was the picture of civility to that little smart arse. Now, if you don't mind, I need to get back to work and read over this agreement for the Prada campaign."

Emma was stung. George had never dismissed her before. "What's wrong with you?"

"Excuse me for interrupting, but would you mind, Emma, if you continued your little conversation with George after work hours? We have a lot to get through, and I'm not interested in listening to your little soap opera," interceded Jane.

"Excuse me?"

Jane did not even bat an eyelash. She stared Emma down. "You heard me."

Emma flushed and she turned her gaze on George, who appeared tense. "Fine then," she snapped. "I'll leave you two straight-laced workaholics to your cosy meeting!"

And then she whirled on her heel and left the pair without even bothering to close George's office door.

She stalked down the corridor but paused when she heard an angry exclamation from Rob coming from Harriet's office: "—what the hell is wrong with you?"

Emma pressed her ear against the wall to hear their conversation better,

"What are you going on about?" asked Harriet, her voice sounding suspiciously wobbly.

"Why are you wasting your time on some little shithead who thinks the world shines out of his arse?"

"You've never done anything worthwhile to demonstrate you're serious about me. Elton wants to see the photos of me that Emma took, _and_ he treats me like a princess."

"So what are you saying? That I am worth nothing next to Elton …"

For the first time, Emma tried to fight back something akin to guilt from her gut at the sound of Rob's palpable anguish.

"Emma says that Elton thinks I am incredibly beautiful and showered even more compliments like that…"

"Oh, I should have guessed—of course that pampered priss, Emma Woodhouse, is behind this. Bloody hell! I can't believe you're listening to her crap. She's only twenty-one, Harriet!"

Emma clenched her fists at Rob's comments

"Rob, if you're going to stand here and abuse me and Emma, you can piss off! Emma merely pointed me in the direction of a man who knows how to treat a woman."

"Harriet, _please_. Why are you taking advice from Emma? Just because George keeps her around as his pampered pet, it doesn't mean that you have to take her words as bloody gospel!"

"Please leave now, Rob," commanded Harriet in a steely voice, her earlier vulnerability gone.

Emma quickly left, her face burning. Her brief guilt and sympathy towards Rob had rapidly evaporated at his words to Harriet. Her father had always told her that she would never hear anything good by eavesdropping, but she was still shocked that Rob entertained an equally low opinion of herself that she heartily reciprocated to him.

Her eavesdropping only served to heighten her sense of righteousness in pointing Harriet over to Elton. For all she cared, Rob could go to his local drinking hole with all the other beery bogans, and contract as many venereal diseases as he liked—so long as he kept his paws off Harriet, who could do _so _much better.

* * *

Emma was very relieved when Frank rolled up in a rented Mercedes at five o'clock exactly. A night out with an uncomplicated and charming person was exactly what she needed.

However, the earlier elation that had filled her about seeing Frank had somewhat deflated over the course of the tense and conflict-ridden day.

Taylor and Harry had left work earlier, so they could continue planning their respective hens and bucks nights.

"Hey baby!" Frank called, carelessly pulling his car into the car park of Highbury without any regard for the surrounding cars.

"Hey!" returned Emma, her spirits rising. "Like your rented car."

"Well, I didn't want to pick up a beautiful woman like you in a golf buggy."

"Very chivalrous of you," teased Emma as she flung her bag into the backseat. "God, I need a drink. Today has been hell."

"Tell me about it over drinks. Where's the best place to go?"

"The Velvet Den is a good one. Tonight they have half-price cosmopolitan night."

"Ah. So it's _Sex and the City_ themed night?"

"Basically."

Just as Emma climbed into the passenger seat, George and Jane exited the building. As if the same programmer clocked the pair, identical expressions of solemnity appeared on their faces.

"Bloody hell," muttered Frank. "Can't those two take the broomsticks out of their arses for one moment?"

George made his way over to Frank and Emma with Jane behind him. "What would you like me to tell your dad, Emma?"

"Just tell him that I am caught up with work and I will see him next week," coolly replied Emma.

George seemed weary. "Alright. But he will be disappointed."

"Who are you? Em's grandpa?" snorted Frank. "She's allowed to go out on a Friday night, you know?"

"I wasn't aware that this conversation concerned you," returned George in a clipped tone, his face wrought with tension.

"You're not exactly the poster boy for chivalry, Frank," backed up Jane in a detached voice. "This is new behaviour."

"Well, your friend didn't seem to mind my bad side, did she?" retorted Frank.

Jane went red and did not reply, while Emma bit back a smirk.

"I'm going out with Frank tonight and I plan on enjoying myself," Emma said to George, raising her chin defiantly to him.

"Fine. Enjoy yourself then," replied George in an excessively polite tone.

Emma could have slapped him. What was George's problem?

Frank gunned the ignition. "Now, if Bland and Blander can move out of our way, Emma and I can go and have some _fun_."

As Frank sharply exited the car park, Emma craned her head around and saw the lone figure of George staring after them.

* * *

Frank was an engaging conversationalist but Emma found her thoughts kept drifting back to the image of George standing alone in grey weather. Guilt gnawed at her. This was the first time she had skived off seeing her father at the nursing home with George. She imagined her father complaining about her absence and castigating the world in general to George, which made her mentally cringe.

Frank waved his hand in front of her face. "Earth to Emma. Are you still thinking about that uptight George of yours? God, he seems so serious and dull. I don't know how you can stand him!"

Though Emma was annoyed at George, she did not like to hear Frank talk badly about him. "George is not boring. He's the most interesting, funny and smart man I know."

Frank raised an eyebrow insinuatingly. "Really?"

Emma's cheeks went hot. "What?"

"The way you talk about him…"

"What do you mean?" she snapped.

"Whoa, calm down! I'm only teasing."

Emma pursed her lips. "I don't like to hear George criticised—especially from someone like you who doesn't even know him."

Frank leaned across the table and took Emma's hands in his. "I'm sorry," he coaxed her. "Let's not talk about your beloved George or that frigid bitch, Jane—how about we have a few more cosmos, eh?"

Emma relaxed. "Fine. You can pay for the third lot."

* * *

Before she knew it, Frank plied her with three more cosmos. Emma felt lightheaded and giggly. Frank's phone went off and even in her drunken state Emma could see that Frank was disconcerted.

"Don't pick it up," giggled Emma, trying to steal his phone. "Have another drink with me."

Frank batted her hands away and tersely answered the phone. "What?...So you want to talk to me now…you made it very clear before that….alright…yes…I'll meet you in fifteen minutes…yes I do remember the address…I'll see you then…bye."

Frank flipped shut his phone. "Sorry babe. I've got to go. A very _old_ _friend_ of mine has something urgent to speak about with me that can't be put off. You're alright getting home yourself?"

Emma blinked, her brain cloudy from the cocktails. She did not even get the chance to reply when without preamble Frank kissed her lingeringly on the mouth. "Good. I'm glad you've got arrangements. I'll call you tomorrow."

Emma stared after his exiting figure in shock. She was trying to piece together her emotions but was completely befuddled. She was not sure whether she was supposed to be furious at being left alone in a bar drunk or pleased at being kissed. She gazed around the bar, realising that she was in a vulnerable position. She did not like the look of the overweight man in a leather jacket who was blatantly eyeing her.

She fumblingly pulled out her phone and with some difficulty dialled George's number.

A bleary voiced George answered: "Yes?"

Emma's tongue was thick in her mouth. "George?"

"Are you drunk?"

Emma nodded her head like a bobbing apple. "Uh-huh. Frank had to leave suddenly and now I'm all alone at a bar and a weird man keeps staring at me."

"Where are you?" George sounded serious.

"The Velvet Den."

"I'll come and get you. Don't wander outside. Stay inside, okay?"

"Okay," she slurred.

"I'll be there as soon as possible," he promised.

Emma leaned back against the booth, her head spinning. She had not been this drunk for ages. She did not know how much time passed before she felt a familiar pair of arms roughly shake her.

"Emma?"

Her eyes fluttered open, trying to focus on a concerned George. "You're here," she croaked.

He pushed back the hair from her face and handed her a bottle of water. "Drink this."

She guzzled the water as if she was an infant just learning how to drink. She then managed to stand up with George's help.

"I could just about kill Frank at the moment," muttered George as he helped her into the passenger seat. "Why the hell would he leave you alone and drunk in a bar?"

"Don't be angry at him," mumbled Emma, her head lolling against the window. "It was all my fault. I shouldn't have drunk so much."

George sighed. "Saint Frank can do no wrong, can he?"

Emma did not reply as she promptly drifted off. She awoke again as George scooped her in his arms and carried her through the door of his apartment.

She tucked her head into the crook of his neck. "I'm so sorry about today. I was such a bitch to you. I felt so guilty about not seeing dad with you."

He stroked her hair back. "No, I'm sorry, Em. I acted like such a bastard today to you."

Emma laughed softly, her words still slightly slurred: "A bitch and a bastard. What a combination."

George gave her a crooked smile. "Yeah. We're a combination."

"Thank-you George," she whispered as her left hand curved around his neck, "for coming to get me."

His mocha eyes bore into hers intensely. "Anytime," he replied in a low voice.

He then placed her carefully on his bed. "Can you get changed yourself? I can lend you tracksuit pants and a t-shirt to sleep in."

Emma felt leaden and her head was throbbing. "I can barely move. I'll just sleep in my dress."

George pulled back the sheets and gently tucked her in. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"Stay," she breathed. "This is your bed, after all."

A strangled sound escaped George's throat. "It's no bother to me. I'll just sleep on the couch."

"Please?" she plaintively asked. "I feel so bad that I got you up at eleven to pick me up, so I can hardly ask you to vacate your bed for me."

His fingers softly brushed against her forehead. "Don't worry, Em. The couch and I are old friends."

She managed to grasp his hand. "Seriously, George—stay. I'm hardly going to molest you in your sleep."

George's lips quirked. "Are you sure?"

She did not reply. Instead, Emma shifted herself over to make room for him. He slowly lowered himself beside her. Already, Emma sensed as if she was secure and warm. Her eyelids began to droop as she rolled on her side facing him.

"Thanks, George," she murmured before sleep finally claimed her.

_

* * *

Emma awoke to a soft pair of lips caressing her neck. She groaned softly as her eyes slowly opened. "Hey you," she purred, twisting her head around so she could claim George's lips in a searing kiss._

_He smiled against her lips. "I hope I didn't wake you?"_

"_What do you call my current state?" she retorted with no convincing venom before kissing him again while her hands ruffled his ash coloured hair._

_His hands caressed her bare shoulders. "Emma…"_

* * *

Emma awoke with a start. Her heart was thudding and her body was pulsing. As her eyes adjusted to the stark morning light, she realised that George was not in bed. She raised her clammy hands to her hot cheeks. She never had any sensual dreams like that about anyone before. Especially _George_ of all people—her best friend and confidant. It seemed all so real. His lips and hands…She bit her lip in embarrassment. What if she had talked the dream out in her sleep and he had heard her? Maybe it was her subconscious working in overdrive after George rescued her from the bar last night. George and her? What the hell?

Her eyes flickered to a small square shaped piece of paper atop his pillow:

_E, _

_Had some things at work to fix up._

_Hope you're not too hung-over—there are pancakes for you in the fridge._

_G. _

Emma's lips curved into a half-smile. Trust George to be straight to the point and Spartan in dialogue. She shook her head as if that single action could dispel her erotic dream. She rationalised. Perhaps her mind was just playing on the fact that George was the most important man in her life—apart from her father—and her dream was just trying to psyche her out? After all, she was attracted to Frank, not George. Maybe her dream was pointing out the conflict of splitting up her time between George and Frank, and trying to balance both?

But the dream of his mouth and hands…

She punched the mattress.

No. She was merely hung over and mixing her feelings towards Frank with George. Speaking of which…

Her phone buzzed with a new message. It was from Frank:

**Hey babe.**

**Soz that I left u stranded. Real drama last nite. Can I make it up2u?**

**Xox**

Emma grinned and quickly texted back: **Of course.** **U can b my escort 2 Elton's fundraiser on Sunday night.**

Her phone buzzed again: **Let me noe da time & ill be there. Xox **

She then remembered Frank's lingering kiss from last night. Of course, she reasoned, her mind was merely convoluting Frank's kiss and George's solid friendship during her dream.

Of course.

That was the logical reason because there was no way she'd ever kiss her oldest friend, George.

Never in a million years.

**End of Part Five. Hehe…I bet, dear readers, that you can guess who Frank's mysterious caller was? Some of you may also wonder why I included a dream sequence between Emma/George. The reason is because I don't want Emma at the end of the story to be like, 'OMG I like, totally, like love, like, George!'. A gradual process from friendship to romantic love has to be made, and so I wanted to signpost a number of indicators that Emma, who is quite 'clueless' (to forgive the pun) about the subtleties of human emotion and interaction, will take a while to comprehend before she can fully be happy and grow. **

**Next chapter will be some Taylor/Emma interaction, Elton acts in a less-than-holy manner, and be ready for some more Frank/Emma/George drama. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**Disclaimer: As stated in previous chapters**

Emma pulled her car up in front of Taylor and Harry's picturesque apartment in Primrose Hill. A garden of roses, lavender and daffodils jam-packed the front as Emma navigated herself down a gravel path to the front door.

She barely had time to ring the doorbell before the door was flung open and she was engulfed in a giant bear hug from Taylor. "Em, welcome!"

Emma tightly hugged her back, needing to absorb some sort of stability after the crazy night before. To her, Taylor was the mother she never had.

"Harry!" called Taylor. "Emma is here!"

A grinning Harry, who acted as an unofficial godfather to her, gave her peck on the cheek. "Come in! I have a pot of tea brewing."

"Thanks, Harry," gratefully returned Emma.

"My darling woman is in complete control of our pre-wedding celebrations. We've decided to cancel the bucks and hen night. Instead, we've hired out a function room at Melusine tonight, and we would love it if you would give a speech. George has agreed to one, too, and so has Frank. A few other friends of ours are going to give a brief ones as well."

Taylor kissed Harry's cheek. "We thought it would be nicer as neither of us are enthusiastic about racing around London drunk and throwing up in the gutter."

Emma grinned. "The Melusine is a great idea!"

Taylor led her into the living room. "We are so happy that you like it."

Harry pottered off to get the tea ready. As soon as he left the room, Taylor said in a low voice, "How did your night with Frank go?"

"Not bad. He had to suddenly leave so George had to come and pick me up."

Taylor took Emma's hands in hers and squeezed them affectionately. "Did you like him?"

Emma blushed. "He was interesting to talk to, and he never failed to have a joke on hand."

"Harry and I hoped you two would hit it off. We think that you two would make a great couple. Harry is so fond of you and he thinks that Frank would treat you very well—and I completely agree."

"George and Frank don't seem to get along though."

Taylor smiled softly. "Maybe Em, George is trying to get used to not being the main person that you rely on. If things with Frank go well, it will be Frank—not George—who you will confide in and put first."

Emma bit her lip. "I've never seen George act short temperedly to anyone before."

"Just assure George that he's always going to be part of your life and that you're not going to dump him on the kerb like garbage—and let him know that if he really is your friend, then he should try and get on with Frank for your sake."

Emma took a deep breath, feeling lighter. "You're right. You make perfect sense."

"I'm glad I do," laughed Taylor, and then she sobered. "You know that you can always talk to me about anything, don't you?"

"Of course, Taylor."

"I know that I haven't been available as I used to be, but once my wedding is over, I promise that—"

"You have nothing to be apologetic for!" exclaimed Emma, giving Taylor a squeeze on the arm. "You've got a wedding to plan and a husband-to-be to worry about—and besides, I'm not one years old anymore. I hardly need you to change my nappy."

Taylor gave Emma an affectionate hug. "I just wanted to let you know that you are still an important part in my life and that my marriage to Harry is not going to change my concern for your wellbeing."

And for some bizarre reason, Emma felt tears prick at her eyes but she quickly blinked them back and had a dazzling smile on her face before Taylor released her.

* * *

Frank escorted Emma to Melusine for the joined pre-wedding celebration. She was dressed in a pale pink strapless dress decorated with little clusters of pearls, and matching heels, while her hair was in an elegant French twist.

"You look amazing, Em," Frank said in her ear as he escorted her through the double glass doors and into the function room that was already milling with people.

"Thanks. You don't clean up too badly yourself."

Frank pulled her to him for a lingering kiss in response. Emma certainly was not lukewarm in returning the favour.

A wolf-whistle broke apart the two. It was a grinning Harry who looked flushed from a few too many drinks. "Keep it PG-rated won't you two?"

Frank grinned. "I'll try to, dad. Where's your lovely bride-to-be?"

"Giggling with the girls. I didn't dare interrupt." Harry's gaze then drifted to Emma. "You look beautiful, Em. Taylor and I are so happy that you could make it."

Emma gave him a peck on the cheek. "Congratulations, Harry—I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Harry chuckled. "George is already here. He helped set up for tonight."

"Isn't Georgie-peorgie a saint?" smoothly remarked Frank.

Harry clapped his son on the back. "Come on—I'll get you a beer. Pardon me, Emma, while I steal him for a little bit."

Frank shot Emma an apologetic look as he allowed his father to drag him away. Emma all of a sudden felt lost in this sea of people. She saw Harriet by the stage talking to Elton, who had been invited at the last minute after giving Harry and Taylor two tickets for a Riveria Cruise. She then spotted a curiously pale George, who looked as if he had not slept at all. He seemed restless and detached from the merriment around him. Emma was not sure whether it was because Miss Bates was inanely chattering to him without taking a breath, or because Frank had arrived.

Emma weaved her way through the people until she reached George and Miss Bates. She kissed him on the cheek. "Hey stranger".

Before George could reply, Miss Bates ambushed her.

"Oh Miss Woodhouse!" exclaimed Miss Bates, "You look like you have just stepped off the cover of Vogue! You remind me of Grace Kelly in her glory years—yes that's right—Grace Kelly when she was in Hitchcock's _Rear Window_…ah, Jimmy Stewart, now he was a real gentleman. My heart went a flutter when he cast those piercing blue eyes at the camera—why, it felt as if he was staring right at me…Oh, I wish that I could have had a Jimmy Stewart of my own—"

"You're too kind, Miss Bates," interrupted Emma, smiling falsely. "I love your handbag—by the way, I think that Cecelia and Howard Cole are gesturing for you to join them. I know they are dying to hear about Jane."

Miss Bates' eyes lit up. "You're right, Emma dear. I haven't spoken to the Coles in ages! They haven't heard about my Jane's accomplishments. I hope you don't think I'm rude?"

Emma thought she couldn't be any sugary sweet without developing diabetes. "Of course not. I wouldn't _dream_ of preventing you from catching up with old friends."

Miss Bates scuttled away, leaving Emma and George together.

"You look tired," said Emma, sipping at her champagne that she had just swiped from a passing waiter.

George rubbed his temple. "Its just stress."

"Are you sure? Its not got anything to do with Frank, because if it is, for my sake can you please just—"

"For Christ's sake! The world doesn't revolve around bloody Frank!"

"What the hell is wrong with you? I really like Frank, and I want this to work out. Why can't you be happy for me?"

George's eyes flashed and he looked like he was struggling to suppress some sort of emotion that Emma could not quite discern. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and when he removed it, his face was composed. Emma found it hard to sustain her annoyance when she saw his worn face, and especially when he took her free hand between his two warm ones and softly stroked it.

"You're right," he said quietly, his eyes full of apology. "I'm sorry. I will try to make more of an effort to be civil to Frank for your sake."

Emma smiled warmly. "It would mean a lot to me. Thanks, George."

George's eyes cast down to their entwined hands and then back up to her face. "Tell me—are you really serious about Frank?"

"I haven't met anyone like him before."

George gently released her hand. "That's all I needed to know."

"Oi Emma!" called Frank, gesturing for her to join Harry, Taylor and him by the stage, which broke Emma and George's intense interlude.

Emma looked back at George. "Want to join us?"

He shook his head. "No, you go on ahead. I might go and see Jane—she's standing all by herself in the corner."

"Saint George," laughed Emma, unable to keep away a faint trace of distaste from her face at the sight of a morose Jane in a resplendent midnight blue dress, "You go and save that fair maiden."

George theatrically bowed, his expression hidden by his bent head. "As you wish, my lady."

And if Emma had not been distracted by Frank, and bothered to inspect George's face properly, she would have seen his melancholy eyes.

* * *

Emma was having a fantastic time. Frank was showering her with attention, while Harry and Taylor fussed over her like she was their prized possession. She wished that her father could have made it, but she knew that he would never want to make the long journey from the nursing home.

The speeches began around ten thirty pm. Frank commenced the proceedings with a typically witty one, and Emma gave a short but affectionate speech that especially honoured a suspiciously watery-eyed Taylor who engulfed Emma in a giant hug afterwards. Two more short speeches (that Emma considered lack lustre and dull) by Matthew and Bettina Cole followed Emma's, and finally George got up to round off the toasting.

"I will not detain you all long from the beautiful food and great music, so all I have to say is this: Harry and Taylor are so lucky to find in each other the perfect soul mate. Not many of us will ever be that blessed, not many of us will find that perfect person who may drive us to insanity, but who we simultaneously cannot imagine living without; that person who lights up our day…who fills our empty voids with laughter, love and loyalty, and who we would want to grow old with and terrorise the nurses at the nursing home with—"

Emma cracked a grin while others lightly chuckled.

"And most of all—"

George's voice momentarily faltered, but he quickly recovered his composure. Emma's brow crinkled. What was wrong with George tonight?

"And most of all, be lucky to find that perfect person who returns the full intensity of your feelings. Unequivocally." He raised his champagne glass. "Harry and Taylor, you two are truly blessed. Congratulations."

Everyone raised their glasses.

George boomed: "To Harry and Taylor!"

"TO HARRY AND TAYLOR!"

Harry and Taylor (blinking back tears) nearly suffocated George when they hugged him. Emma saw that Taylor's mascara was now smudging as she murmured something in George's ear and lightly squeezed his hand.

Frank sauntered up to Emma, appearing rather put out. "His speech sounded as if it was ripped off from a Hallmark card. I think his trite little speech was aimed at our dear Jane. Did you see the way she was looking during his speech?"

Emma raised her eyebrows. "No way. You're being stupid! George and Jane? Ew!"

Frank put his arm around her. "Babe, George's eyes did not move from her and she did not look away from him. Here, look at her!"

Emma twisted her head around to observe Jane. Jane was pale and tight-lipped, and seemed as if she was preventing herself from crying. "Jane has been looking like that all night. There's no way George would be interested in her!"

However, as she spoke, Emma saw George move straight to Jane with a concerned expression. Emma did not miss the way Jane smiled gratefully at him, peaking up at his attention. She could not hear what the two were saying, but it seemed that whatever George was saying made Jane touch his forearm and whisper something in his ear.

"What a little whore," muttered Frank. "She has some nerve."

Emma glanced back at Frank, surprised at the venom in his voice. "I know that she dated your friend, but wasn't that last year?"

Frank went red and he ran a hand through his hair agitatedly. "You're right, babe. It was just that things were very intense between the two, and I'm just surprised she's moving on so fast. After all, she said that she loved my friend so much."

Emma was trying to force down her own feelings of disgust at the intimate scene playing out in front of her between Jane and George. Was George's speech really directed at Jane? Really?

Suddenly, for some bizarre reason, the room felt too hot. "I'm going to the loo. Be back in ten minutes," said Emma, kissing Frank squarely on the mouth. He then surprised her by clasping her close and cupping her bottom as he slid his tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss.

He then abruptly pulled away. "Sorry babe—couldn't resist. You look bloody sexy in that dress."

Flustered, but pleased at the compliment, Emma blew him a kiss and made her way to the toilets that were located down a narrow corridor.

"Emma!" slurred a familiar voice.

Emma turned around in the deserted corridor and saw Elton lurching toward her. She had barely exchanged two sentences with him all evening because Frank had monopolised her attentions on the dance floor. "Hey Elton."

"Emma, please stop for a moment."

"Are you alright? You look flushed."

He grabbed her hand. "Emma, you look so deliciously gorgeous that I could rip that dress off you right now and fu—"

"Elton!" Emma shook her hand free. "What the hell is wrong with you? Where's Harriet?"

"What the fuck would I want with that tub of lard?" he incredulously asked.

"You've been making eyes at Harriet for ages!"

"You've got to be joking? How can you have missed my numerous compliments about your photography? How can you have misinterpreted my framing of your fantastic black and white picture of Harriet in an expensive frame? It was all done for you! It was all done to grab your attention! I only talked to Harriet because I thought it would make you happy and see what a charming man I can be!"

"I'm not interested in you. Please leave me alone before you say or do anything you will regret," Emma replied, trying to keep her voice calm.

"You have been cock-teasing me, you little bitch. You think you can make me jealous by flirting with that Frank of yours? Well done—you've showed me how desirable men find you, and have made me jealous as hell. Now I want my reward!"

Emma started to run but he was too fast and pushed her hard against the wall, her back to him. Emma tried to push him off, but his toned gym body was no match for petite height, and he trapped her between the wall and his figure. She could feel his erection straining against her buttocks, and she felt sick. His alcohol laden breath also made bile gather in her throat.

"Get off me, you pig!" she hissed.

"Make me," he jeered, rubbing his straining crotch against her back.

Emma's panicked brain suddenly cleared and she realised that she had only one option left. She rammed her heel into his foot whilst simultaneously whipping her head back against his face.

He cried out in pain and loosened his hold. Seeing her chance, a slightly woozy Emma then elbowed him hard in the ribs and kicked him hard in the balls for good measure. He fell onto the ground, swearing and groaning, while grabbing his groin area.

"You piece of shit. Don't you ever touch or come near me again. If you do, I will call the cops and you can say bye-bye to your preaching career."

"Emma?" came a voice she was so glad to hear.

"George!" she exclaimed in relief, realising she was shaking as George hurried over.

"What happened?" he urgently asked. "Taylor sent me out to find you."

"Elton tried to force himself on me—but I fixed him up. It's alright."

Emma was pleased that her voice was calm, but that satisfaction immediately quelled when she saw George's face contort in fury. Her heart clenched in fear when George snapped around and yanked Elton off the floor by his shirt collar and slammed him against the wall where Emma had been only a few moments ago.

"George!" she shouted. "Leave him!"

She had never seen George out of control before. It was as if a primal being had possessed him.

"How do you like being powerless now, you sorry, perverted sack of shit? Do you get a kick out of assaulting women in dark corridors near the toilets, do you? Do you think it makes you into some sort of hero, huh? What would your dear viewers think if they knew their sainted preacher was actually a dirty pervert and a conman? I was talking to a cop mate of mine the other day, and he told me something very interesting—do you know what that was?"

Tears were spilling out of Elton's eyes.

"My mate told me that two years ago, you were accused of accepting illicit sexual favours from an under age prostitute but the charges were dropped because the girl mysteriously 'found God' and is now one of your assistants who is decked out all the fine clothes and accessories that she can ever desire."

George was breathing hard. "Emma, do you want to call the cops on this piece of trash?"

Emma shook her head.

"Are you sure?"

Elton whimpered.

"No, George. Please let him go," Emma whispered, feeling drained and developing a pounding headache from head-butting Elton.

George's eyes softened at her obvious distress. "Alright, Em. It's your decision."

But then his eyes hardened when they fastened upon Elton. "You're lucky Emma is conciliatory. I don't ever want to see your pathetic face again. I want you to withdraw your business from us and pay us half of the fee we had originally agreed upon. Then you leave us alone, and we won't file a complaint with the police—comprehend?"

Elton nodded as tears ran down his cheeks like a snivelling infant.

"Good," said George grimly. He released his hold on Elton who slid to the floor. "I want to see that deposit in Highbury's bank account by the end of next week."

"I promise," he croaked. He turned red, puffy eyes to Emma. "I'm so sorry."

"Get out now before anyone comes out and sees you like this," coldly intercepted George.

Elton stumbled up and tottered out the fire exit.

Emma felt like a ragdoll. She gazed at George with bewildered eyes. "George…"

"I'm here, Em," he said hoarsely, embracing her tightly. "I'm here."

"Thanks," she sniffled, burrowing her head into his chest.

"Are you sure you don't want to turn that bastard into the police?" he murmured against her hair.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Emma sensed strength seeping into her bones again. She sighed as George's arms tightened around her.

"I'm such a dick-head. I was so blind that I didn't see Elton had feelings for me and not Harriet. I'm a dick-head."

"Shhh. You're no such thing. Misguided, yes—dickhead, no."

"Harriet will be crushed."

"I hardly care about Harriet at this present moment."

There was a moment of silence.

Then: "You gave Elton a killer jab in the balls. I'm impressed."

Emma managed a small smile. "Thanks."

A loud cough broke them apart. Emma suddenly felt cold, but attributed it to the drafty corridor instead of being deprived of George's close proximity.

"Am I interrupting anything?" asked Frank, his voice acidic.

Emma hastily wiped her eyes. She did not want to tell anyone else about what happened with Elton. "It's just been an emotional night."

"She needs you right now, Frank," said George quietly, as he carefully guided her to a confused Frank, who immediately held Emma tight.

Over Frank's shoulder, Emma mouthed 'thank-you' to George.

George merely inclined his head, and left Frank and Emma entwined in the cold corridor.

**Please let me know what you think! Sorry about the long delay between updates :D**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Frank dropped Emma home after the party, but Emma could tell something in Frank had cooled towards her. He seemed agitated and not his sharp cracking self, but then, Emma was not exactly feeling all there either. Elton's heinous actions earlier in the night had just about tested her ability to present a false, cheery front to her friends.

"Is everything alright?" asked Emma as Frank abruptly pulled into a clear space in front of her flat.

"Yeah," he muttered. He checked his phone again for about what seemed the millionth time to Emma.

"Who are you waiting for to call?"

"No one."

"Well unless you have some sort of disorder that compels you to check your phone every couple of seconds, I'd say you were waiting for an important call."

"Its none of your business."

"You've been acting weird all night."

"I'm just not in the mood to cater to your every whim, Em. Why don't you ask your beloved George to?"

"What's that suppose to mean?"

Frank sighed and massaged his temple. "Nothing…nothing…it's just been a very long week. I'm sorry."

"You've been bagging George all night, and it's beginning to piss me off," snapped Emma.

"I don't want to fight, please. I-I have to go away for a few days…there's a few things I have to sort out, and my aunt says she is very ill. There's no way I want to leave my uncle to deal with her so-called death bed theatrics on his own."

"Oh."

Frank touched Emma's arm. "You're a great girl, Emma, but I'm not ready for a serious relationship at this point in time. If you can forgive me for being such a jerk to you tonight, can we just take things slow? Maybe casual?"

Emma raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by casual—sex with no emotional attachments? If so, forget it."

"Geez Em, what do you take me for?"

"Not much at the moment."

"What I meant by casual, is just maybe some dinners, movies and flirting—nothing more than that until the both of us work out what we want."

Emma's eyes flickered to the dashboard as she thought through Frank's words, and then she turned back to look at him, smiling softly. "Okay. We will try that."

Frank smiled with relief. "Great."

Emma unbuckled her seat belt and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Thanks for driving me home. Hope your aunt gets better."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Last time my aunt thought she had cancer but it turned out to be a wart—I had travelled all the way back from Paris after she called me in hysterics just to hear that. I don't know how my uncle puts up with it."

"Maybe you can cheer her up with retelling her what happened at Harry and Taylor's engagement party?"

"My aunt dislikes other people being happy," said Frank bitterly.

Emma did not know how to respond to that. She merely stepped out of the car and watched him drive off in the cloudy night, not understanding why she did not feel disappointed that they were not formalising their relationship.

* * *

She was just about to get into bed when her mobile rang. "Hey George."

"Hey. Just wanted to know if you were interested in driving down with me to see John, Izzy, mum and Damon tomorrow morning? Mum's been badgering me to visit her new B&B, and John just called me to say that he will only be able to endure the visit if I agree to come along. He suggested that your dad stay the night at the B&B and he is more than willing to pay for an overnight nurse to stay with him."

"That would be great, George," said Emma warmly, as she pulled her doona over herself.

"Is Frank there?"

Emma snorted. "No. Don't worry—you're hardly interrupting a night of unbridled passion."

"What happened?"

"He was in some weirdo mood, and kept checking his phone. Then he says he wants to take a step back from our relationship and keep it casual. He's now going back to stay with his hypochondriac aunt because apparently she's on her deathbed again."

"Are you okay?"

"Funnily enough, I'm not upset. After seeing this new side of him, it has made me wary about going any further and I think some time apart would be useful. Besides, I got pissed off at him about his constant sniping at you."

"I'm a grown man, Em. I can handle that twat."

Emma grinned. Though he did not say it, she could tell he was pleased that she stood up for him. "Whatever."

"You've just emasculated me."

Emma sniggered. "That's not hard to do."

"How about everything that happened with Elton? How do you feel? We can still go to the cops if you like."

"I just don't want to think anymore about that at all. Can we please change the subject?"

There was a pause on the other end. Then: "Pick you up tomorrow morning at 8am?"

"I'll be half-asleep," she warned.

"Fine with me. Saves me having to listen to you talking for at least half of the journey."

"Bastard."

"Bitch."

Emma laughed, glad that George had shaken off his melancholic mood from the party. "See you tomorrow."

"Don't let the bedbugs bite."

* * *

George was true to his word. He arrived exactly at eight am. Emma had barely packed an overnight bag, let alone fully dressed herself. So George merely sat amusedly on her bed as he watched Emma rampage around her flat in love-heart knickers and a grey singlet top that clung to her slim finger like a second skin.

By eight-twenty, an impatient George yanked up her bag that was overflowing with clothes, make-up and two pairs of heels (despite Emma's contrary argument that she was not fully packed!) and headed out to the car. Emma nearly tripped over a stray stiletto in her rush to follow him out the door.

They were finally on the road by eight-forty. As George drove, Emma covertly inspected him. He seemed cheerful and laid back—hardly the pale and tense man of the past few weeks. He was wearing a white dress shirt that showed off his lean figure, and black jeans with a hint of Versace _eau de Fraiche_ emanating from his skin.

George's eyes diverted from the road to her, and he joked: "Am I growing a second head or something to cause you to stare at me so intently?"

For some bizarre reason, Emma blushed and said simply. "I'm just happy to see you happy."

An expression that Emma had never seen before on his face appeared—one of such startling intensity, that she felt naked.

"You're right, I haven't felt this relaxed for ages."

Emma smiled softly. "I'm glad."

* * *

They arrived at Gloria and Damon's B&B—named Snuggle's Cottage, much to George's consternation and Emma's amusement—which was an old-fashioned country house that could hold up to twelve guests at a time. An elaborate rose trellis framed the sunflower yellow door and Emma half-expected to see Agatha Christie's Miss Marple pottering around in the front garden that was filled with red, pink, yellow and white roses.

The door flew open before Emma and George even rang the antique bell, and Gloria engulfed George in her arms. "My darling boy!" she exclaimed "It's about time you visited me."

George did not look remotely like his mother, who was extremely curvy bordering on chubby, with bright red false nails, thick red lipstick, black mascara and peroxide blonde hair teased into a beehive. George and his brother John had instead inherited their father's lean figure, dark colouring and defined features. Gloria had not always been so plastic looking, but Adam's slow death through leukemia had transformed her from a down-to-earth and witty woman into a loud-mouthed, vacuous and mercurial person.

Emma detected the reproach that simmered beneath Gloria's jovial tone and George did too, for he mildly replied, "Work hasn't exactly been a holiday but I will try to make more of an effort, mum."

Gloria pursed her lips and then she turned her charm onto Emma. "My little girl! You have grown—you look absolutely beautiful. Why, the boys must be lapping you up!"

"_Mum_," warned George.

Emma laughed. "Thanks, Mrs. K."

"I'm Mrs. K no more, Em. I'm now Mrs. Hodge."

"Whoops."

Gloria beamed. "Emma, Emma. You look exactly like your mother. How is your father?"

But before Emma could reply, Gloria bellowed down the hall, "Babe! My boy and Emma are here!"

Emma saw George wince at Gloria's use of 'babe'. Within milliseconds, Damon appeared in a leather jacket, stonewashed jeans and a white shirt that showed off his muscular chest. He was only two years older than George.

He roughly shook hands with George. "How are you doing, mate?"

Emma was impressed at how George managed to conceal his dislike of Damon so well. There was not one hint of it in George's wide smile and manly clap on Damon's back, followed by obligatory sports talk.

Emma liked Damon even though he was not too bright, but he was cheerful and treated her like his little sister. She tried to imagine what Adam would have thought of all this, and she decided that he would have been shocked. Adam once had a large library filled with priceless old books from Tolstoy, Dickens, Eliot and Milton, to Homer, Plato, Aristotle and Aurelius. It was his private sanctuary and a waft of brandy and cigars always emanated from under the door, but when he died, Gloria sold off every book without telling George who had been in France, and John in Scotland. That was the only time Emma had seen George truly angry with his mother.

As Emma followed everyone in and took in the framed pictures of clichéd cozy country kitchens, farm animals, and girls in large bonnets and frocks, she was struck with a sudden nostalgia for the tasteful antiques that had once graced the house of Adam and Gloria. She was sure Adam would have had a coronary looking at the sheer tackiness of Gloria's B&B.

"When are dad, Izzy and John arriving?" asked Emma.

"They should be here in another hour."

Isabella (commonly called Izzy) was Emma's half-sister. Mr. Woodhouse had impulsively married an Italian model called Maria Lavazza he met when on a business meeting (this was the first and last time he did anything that impulsive and unpredictable!). The marriage barely lasted two years because Maria turned out to be a domineering and manipulative woman who could not stand Mr. Woodhouse's obsession with cleanliness and neatness. Two-year old Isabella stayed with Mr. Woodhouse after the divorce and every time she visited her mother in Florence on the holidays, she always came home in tears because Maria always called her 'fat' and 'ugly' and tried to make her go on every diet possible.

Isabella was fourteen when Emma was born and doted on Emma like she was her own doll to dress-up and cuddle. Isabella had basked in the affection and generosity of her stepmother, Elena, and felt equally as devastated as her father when Elena died. Isabella and Emma were sometimes nicknamed 'the sun and the moon', because Emma had corn silk coloured hair, blue eyes and sun-kissed skin whereas Isabella had her mother's wavy dark hair, large brown eyes and olive skin.

As soon as they were alone together to unpack in adjoining rooms, George smiled wryly. "God, this place is tacky. If I see one more picture of a cherub-faced girl in a bonnet holding a sheep's crook, I think I might go loopy."

Emma laughed. "I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks so. The toilet paper pole is shaped like a shepherdess."

* * *

About half an hour later, a loud honk sounded from the driveway.

Emma immediately made her way to the front to see Izzy. The Knightley family's monster-sized Four Wheel Drive had come to a halt in the carpark that was designed like a horse stable, and within moments, Izzy nearly fell out of the front seat in her hurry to greet everyone.

"Em!" she exclaimed, engulfing her half-sister in a crushing hug before moving onto George, Gloria and Damon in one frenetic and enthusiastic motion.

"Izzy, do you think you could help me with the kids before you do greet the welcome wagon?" called a tired-sounding John from the car.

"Sorry darling!" Izzy hurried back to the car to scoop a squirming one year-old Andrew from John's arms.

Emma and George went over to the car to aid in unbuckling the three year-old twins, Adrian and Amelia, who shouted and clapped their hands at the sight of their aunt and uncle.

"Uncle George!" exclaimed Amelia, "Have you got lollies for us?"

George lifted her from the car and twirled her around. "No I haven't, little miss. But if you're good, I might buy you something from the shops."

Amelia, who had inherited her mother's endless enthusiasm and optimism, beamed and nestled her head on his shoulder, while Adrian was having a tantrum as John tried to wrestle him from the car.

Emma went to help the nurse Sana in transferring Mr. Woodhouse from the car into a wheelchair.

"Hey dad," she greeted him, giving him a kiss on the forehead. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"You haven't visited me for the last two weeks—I've missed you," said Mr. Woodhouse, ignoring Emma's welcome. "Sana here has been sitting and talking to me with George instead. It's certainly not the same."

Sana mouthed 'don't worry' at her, but Emma still felt guilty. She plastered a smile on her face and said: "I'm sorry, dad. Things have been hectic but I will make more of an effort."

That seem to placate Mr. Woodhouse and he patted her arm as Emma wheeled him to the front door.

"Do you need any help, John?" asked Damon.

"Unless you're an expert in childrearing—no," snapped John, as he held Adrian in a vice-grip to prevent him from tearing off somewhere.

"There's no need for the attitude, mate."

"I'm not your _mate_, so stop using that bloody word!"

Emma exchanged glances with George. A storm was brewing.

"Don't you dare talk to my husband like that!" reprimanded Gloria, her eyes blazing.

John's face flushed a deep red and his eyes matched his mother's in frustration. "Mum, I've told you once and I will tell you again that I will never, ever, accept that worthless little piece of—"

"John, why don't you and Izzy go for a walk around for awhile—I saw a nice lake as I was driving in. Em and I will look after the kids. The both of you look tired from the journey and I think some peace and quiet will do you some good," interceded George.

John snapped around to stare at his older brother. Something unspoken flew between the two, and John's clenched fists relaxed.

"It'll be good, Jack," supported Emma, using her nickname for him. "After a three-hour car drive with young kids, I would feel pretty uptight myself and I'd need to loosen up with a walk."

Izzy quickly caught on. "Come on, darling. It'll be nice. Just you and me. Even if you don't need the walk, I certainly do."

"Fine," said John stiffly, releasing his hold on Adrian who gratefully went to his grandmother.

Emma allowed Sana to take over wheeling her dad so she could hold baby Andrew, and Izzy immediately threaded her arm through John's and briefly pressed her lips to his cleanly shaven cheek. Gloria still looked mutinous with rage but managed to restrain herself because Adrian and Amelia were present, while Damon was withdrawn and slightly sullen.

"Come on, Ade and Milly—I think I can beat you to that pine tree in the back garden. Let's have a race—one, two….THREE!" and George charged off with the twins squealing with joy in hot pursuit as fast as their short legs could carry them.

Gloria greeted Mr. Woodhouse coolly because she still had not forgiven him for not attending her wedding. Emma sighed inwardly, feeling relieved that George had prevented a major explosion. Since Mr. Woodhouse needed to use the toilet and have his medication, Emma had some time to herself. She sat in her room gently rocking Andrew and saw out the window that Jack and Izzy had not walked down to the lake but were down by the side of the B&B in low conversation.

Izzy stood with her back to Jack, leaning into his chest, and his arms were around her middle. They had ceased to speak and merely stood in silence together. Emma thought Jack appeared calmer, and that there was undeniable affection in the slower circular movements his fingers made on her stomach. Emma observed her half-sister smile softly and twist her head around to engage him in a deep and prolonged kiss. After some minutes, the pair pulled apart and Izzy faced him, her hand lightly caressing his left cheek. She murmured something to him that Emma could not decipher, to which Jack nodded and kissed her again.

Jack was a contrast to George in almost everyway. Jack had a quick temper, a sharp, biting tongue, and disliked large social gatherings. If he disliked someone, he did not hide his feelings, and had little patience for sycophants, boasters, liars or fools. However, if he gave his loyalty to someone, he would never waver from it and would fight tooth and nail in your corner if you needed him. He was also unswervingly honest and though he often appeared prickly and irate, he was capable of great love and humour. He was also a successful criminal prosecutor and had a razor sharp intellect. Jack had probably inherited his father's mercurial personality and Emma often pondered how Jack even married Izzy.

Izzy had little interest in academia and was obsessed with hygiene, but she was vivacious and an engaging conversationalist that greatly benefited Jack at formal functions and on a personal level, brought him out of his shell. Also, considering Jack and Izzy had rapidly reproduced three children under four years, Emma reckoned that the physical side of their relationship was more than satisfactory. In Emma's opinion, marrying Izzy was the best thing Jack probably ever did, because she balanced him out and he seemed happier than he had for years.

Unlike George, Jack never had the best of relationships with his parents. Since he was almost a carbon copy of his father, they fought incessantly, and George always had to play the peacemaker. When Jack was in his late teens, he went off the rails and took to hard drinking, recreational drugs and partying to all hours. In the end, Adam and Gloria sent Jack to an expensive boarding school that specialised in troubled teens to finish off his last two years of school. However, Jack had never displayed any animosity towards George and they remained extremely close. Indeed, George was the only family member to visit him at boarding school. Jack returned a changed man and surprised everyone by being accepted into Oxford law school. Around that time, Izzy came back from spending a year as an _au pair_ in Paris, and they fell head over heels for each other—the cynical law student and the optimistic art history girl.

Lunch was served at around one-thirty. Jack (prompted by George) was in the middle of telling about his latest trip to Scotland with Izzy and the kids, when Mr. Woodhouse cut across him and said: "Jack, are you sure it was wise to let the twins and a _newborn baby _go to Scotland at such a cold time of year? They could have gotten severe colds!"

Jack pursed his lips. "They were fine. No one got sick."

"Izzy called me at Edinburgh and said that Amelia had a cold," contradicted Mr. Woodhouse.

"Well, my child is still alive to tell the tale, so it was hardly a life or death situation."

"Daddy," Izzy interjected, "Amelia just had the sniffles and—"

"You should have taken them to Italy or Spain—somewhere warm."

"Well, if you can tell me where in Spain that I can take three young children under five for a cheap price that is not a stinking back-packers' hovel, then I'll be happy to hear it," snapped Jack.

Mr. Woodhouse's face faltered. "Jack, why are you acting like that? I'm just concerned for your children's health and—"

"Are you saying that I'm a negligent father? I'm so sick of—"

"I remember when I went to Scotland with dad," interrupted Emma, knowing that Jack was about to blow a fuse. "It was a great time and my first trip out of England."

She turned to Amelia and Adrian. "You two are so lucky to go at your age. I didn't travel out of England until I was _sixteen_. Did you get to see the Loch Ness monster?"

"No, Auntie Emma. We tried to," said Amelia. Emma saw George shoot her a grateful look while Izzy placed a calming hand on a clearly agitated Jack's forearm.

"I think I saw the Loch Ness monster once—just for a moment," joined in George with a theatrical swish of his hand.

"Really?" asked Adrian disbelievingly.

George waggled his eyebrows. "_Really_."

* * *

After lunch, Jack and Izzy took the twins out for a nature ramble, an amorous Gloria and Damon 'disappeared'; Sana was reading her book on the veranda with a cup of tea while George and Emma (holding baby Andrew) were sitting out in the garden with a dozing Mr. Woodhouse.

Andrew cooed contentedly in Emma's arms.

George sighed. "This afternoon has been so stressful. Between Jack fighting with mum, Damon and your dad, and us having to play mediator, I think we may as well have stayed back home. I probably would have gone crazy if you weren't here."

"In a perverse way, I prefer being here than home at the moment so I don't have to think about what happened with Elton—domestic disputes are a good distraction."

"If I see Elton again, I don't think I could be so conciliatory."

Emma glanced at her dad to double check he was still asleep. "Thanks again for everything you did for me last night."

"I did nothing. You're the one who quite capably whipped him into a sniveling mess."

Emma grinned. "You're quite modest."

"I do try," replied George with mock gravitas.

Andrew gurgled and Emma linked her pinky finger with his little index finger. "He's so adorable."

"You're good with him," said George, rising from his lounge chair and kneeling down beside her.

"I'm good at everything," she joked.

George rolled his eyes amusedly. Then his eyes sobered as he gazed upon Andrew snuggly ensconced in Emma's arms.

"Are you alright?" asked Emma softly.

"Jack's very lucky to have a family—I think I'm a little envious," admitted George without a hint of rancour.

"You will find someone, George. I thought that Danielle and you were the 'real thing' and then you abruptly ended things with her. She positively gave me a death glare when I saw her at the shops the other week as if it was all my fault you two broke up."

George flushed. "She just wasn't right for me."

"George, you will meet your soul mate—I promise."

George smiled ruefully. "I don't think you can promise that, Em."

"Why not? I brought Harry and Taylor together."

"I might pass on your matchmaking skills."

Emma rolled her eyes. "You're so stubborn."

"And debonair, charming, and _amazingly_ sophisticated…"

Emma guffawed. "Puh-lease."

"Let me hold Andrew for a bit."

Emma happily complied. She was struck with a tinge of sadness as she watched George gently rock Andrew in his arms. He would make such a good father and husband, but he was already approaching forty, and it was highly unlikely that he would get married in the next two years. She did not understand why George had already been snapped up by some woman. Though, Emma supposed, if he had been married, the two of them would not be able to hang out like they did now, and he would probably have treated her like Jack did—as if she was a little sister who needed to be protected instead of a friend.

She got up and stood next to him, resting her chin and right hand on his shoulder so she could better see Andrew. "He likes you."

"You sound so surprised that I can hold my own nephew without dropping him on his head," drily replied George.

"I must have sunstroke or post-traumatic stress syndrome from today's events, but I think whenever you get the chance to be made a father, you will be a fantastic one."

"Thanks, Em," said George simply.

"Anytime."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_Emma laughed as George playfully pinched her bottom. "I could sue you for sexual harassment, Mr. Knightley."_

_He smirked, stretching out on their leather couch and taking a sip of red wine. "Of course. Is there a way I can make up for my gross indecency, Miss Woodhouse?"_

_Emma's eyes gleamed as she plucked his wine glass from his hands, placed it on the coffee table, and then lithely straddled him. "I can think of a few ways."_

_A slow smile spread on his face. "I'm at your command."_

_She leaned in close to him, her blond hair showering around his face like a silk curtain. "You're now completely at my mercy," she whispered._

"_I wouldn't have it any other way."_

Emma immediately woke, her mouth dry. What was with these dreams about George? She glanced at her watch. It read 5am and she would have to be at work by 9 am. Emma flopped back down on the bed, flinging her arms out dramatically and sighed. There was no way she would be able to go back to sleep now. She then got up and padded into the living area and flicked on the TV.

Emma wrinkled her nose in distaste at the rerun of David Hasselhoff's _Knight Rider_ but thought watching gutter-level acting, bimbo women and bad haircuts was better than dwelling upon the imagery of George's hands running up and down her creamy thighs as she straddled him on the couch.

* * *

"Oh Emma!" sobbed Harriet the following Monday, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "I can't believe Elton!"

Emma stiffened. Did she somehow find out about Elton's near assault of her at Taylor and Harry's party?

"He's engaged to that bitch Honoria!" finished Harriet. "I thought he liked me and he goes and gives her a diamond ring the size of a bloody tennis ball on live TV at the end of his last program!"

Emma's mouth opened in shock. She had not expected this in a thousand years.

"Oh Emma!" she cried again.

"I'm so sorry, Harriet. I really thought he was attracted to you."

"So did I!" she hiccupped as mascara cascaded down her cheeks. "But obviously not, since he stuck that ring on that plastic piece of—"

"What's happened, Harriet?" asked George, joining them in the reception area.

"Elton's engaged to Honoria," said Emma calmly since Harriet was struggling to stop another onslaught of tears.

George's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

Emma nodded and Harriet gurgled out a 'yes'.

"All marital felicities to them, then," replied George, acid underlying each syllable.

Rob joined them. "I heard about Elton's engagement—it's all over the TV." He shot a smug look at Emma.

Jane followed in behind Rob. Dark circles were under her eyes and her hair was pulled back in a severe bun. "I heard that we lost the Elton account, too."

Emma's stomach flip flopped and felt immediately reassured when George smoothly replied: "He decided to suspend our services because his values starkly diverged from ours."

Only Emma—the other party privy to Elton's deviant and decidedly unholy side—could detect the heavy irony in his voice.

"We really needed that account," said Jane.

"I know, but this can't be helped."

"How come I wasn't informed?" enquired Jane.

"I'm informing you now," steadily replied George.

"Is it because of Emma's ridiculous attempts to match Harriet with Elton that caused this blow-up?"

"Of course _you_ would just _love_ it to be me to stuff everything up so you can boot me out," retorted Emma.

Rob snorted while Harriet blew her nose.

"That's enough, Jane and Emma," responded George in a quiet voice that pulsed with authority. "I'm not going to allow this discussion to turn into a mud-slinging match." He turned to Rob and Harriet. "And you two can go and read over the proofs for the Prada campaign."

Harriet sniffled. "I'll just to go to the bathroom to fix my make-up first."

"Take your time, Harriet," George assured her, patting her back.

Harriet smiled tearfully. "Thanks, George. I'm so sorry for being such a blubbering mess."

"Don't apologise—you've done nothing wrong."

"Mr. Knightley!" called Mrs. Bates from the desk. "Mr. Darcy from Pemberley Corporations is waiting for you in the conference room. He'd arrived fifteen minutes earlier than expected. I gave him a Danish pastry and a latte from the Tree Box Café, and he so kindly reimbursed me for my trouble."

George swore under his breath when he glanced at his watch. "Thanks, Mrs. Bates—I completely forgot."

He then turned to the assembled group like a general mustering his troops before the charge: "Jane, please double check the photos that Antoine took for Prada are correct and choose the ones you think are the best; and Emma, tell Harry and Taylor that I want them to see if they can negotiate with Tom about bringing down the cost of filming the advert. I also need you to bring up a table of statistics regarding consumers' tastes and the advert's marketing appeal by lunch."

Emma nodded, and tried to pretend that Jane's earlier comment meant nothing to her. How dare Jane suggest that it was her matchmaking that caused all this trouble? What a little _bitch_.

The group dispersed quickly but Jane sidled up to Emma. "You know, Emma, that the Elton account could have helped ease the financial burden that George is laboring under?" Jane informed her as the two made their way to the elevator.

"What do you mean?"

"So George hasn't told you?" asked a surprised Jane.

"Told me what?"

"That your father—on account of his last illness—left Highbury's accounts in a muddled mess and it turns out that Adam Knightley had left us with a small deficit because he had been skimming money to pay for priceless books."

"When the hell did you find out all this? How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Jane smirked. "George told me himself that he found out soon after he gained control of Highbury and tried to straighten out the accounts himself. When that failed, he asked me—as I have a degree in accounting too—to see if there was anything he could do to salvage the company. I'd say that today's meeting with advertising magnate Darcy is about the future of this company."

"Oh my God." No wonder George had been stressed and moody. It just was not about Frank. "Why didn't he tell me?"

Jane shrugged. "Maybe he thought you couldn't handle it."

"What the hell do you have against me?" snapped Emma.

"I hate to break it to you, but the world doesn't revolve around you."

"You're getting some perverse satisfaction out of this, aren't you?"

"You're a little theatre queen, Emma. I'm just telling you a few home truths," said Jane in a bored tone.

"Oh please: that's a bit rich coming from a bland, tight-faced cow. Frank told me that you reminded him of an old wine skin stretched tightly across a barrel: sour, mouldy and irrelevant."

At Emma's words, Jane blanched and all colour seeped out of her face. "He-he said that?'

Suddenly Emma did not feel so triumphant at Jane's mortified expression, but she was too angry to back down now. "Yes. The other week. He was quite emphatic about it."

"Excuse me," said Jane in a choked voice, and pushed past a red-faced Emma.

For one moment, Emma was tempted to go after her and apologise, but her sense of injured pride prevented her from doing so. Besides, she was preoccupied with wondering why George did not inform her immediately of Highbury's precarious financial circumstances. Did her own father and Adam really leave George with such a poisoned chalice?

* * *

About two hours later, an ashen-faced George emerged from his office and shook Darcy's hand, escorting him to the front car park. The two men talked for a few moments while Emma, Rob, Harriet, Jane, Harry, Taylor and Miss. Bates looked on agog with curiosity and anxiety.

George came back into the reception. "Can everyone please meet me in conference room number one. I have something important to tell you."

Once everyone filed in and took their seats (Miss Bates for once being silent), George stood at the head of the oval table. "As I'm sure you are all well aware, Will Darcy of Pemberley Corporations was just here, and we'd been discussing the future of Highbury. Due to previous financial mismanagement, Highbury has been sinking despite my best efforts to keep it afloat."

"What do you mean by 'previous financial mismanagement'?" asked Harry.

George ran a hand agitatedly through his hair. "Two years ago upon inheriting the company from Mr. Woodhouse, I discovered that my father had been pocketing money from the company's accounts to pay for his vintage book collection and Mr. Woodhouse had been quite lax in chasing up payments from clients. Thus, Highbury has slipped into a deficit that I have desperately tried to relieve…"

"So what does this Darcy dick have to do with this?" cut in Rob bluntly.

"_Rob_," warned Taylor.

"This 'Darcy dick', Rob, has offered us a lifeline: he wants me to head up his branch, Donwell, which—as I'm sure you know—is the largest advertising firm in England, and he will merge this company with it. You will not be made redundant, and you will receive better wages at Donwell than you currently do here. Also with the merger, I will be able to settle Highbury's debts."

Emma wanted to be sick. How come George did not tell her? Merge with Donwell? See her father's life work go down the drain?

Harry whistled. "Mate, how come you didn't tell us of the problems?"

"My father had been engaged in unethical practices, and if the authorities became involved, I didn't want any of you to be tainted by his legacy."

"So my dad's business will just go down the toilet and the rest of us disappear into the Donwell hordes while you get a plum position at Donwell?" asked Emma coolly.

"I haven't made a deal, Emma, and this is the only course I see that can keep you all employed. If not, I think the only course would be to file for bankruptcy. My father and your father's actions have left a financial hole that I can simply not fill."

"Don't you dare class my father's innocent accounting mistakes with your dad's criminal behaviour!"

"_Emma_," soothed Taylor, who seemed to be the only levelheaded and calm person in the room. "George isn't criticising your dad. He is merely being honest. Combined with Adam's skimming of funds and your dad's failure to chase crucial payments, Highbury is on financial tenterhooks—George is trying to make the best of a bad situation."

Emma folded her arms, not trusting herself to speak.

"Why would Darcy ask you, the head of a newly discovered financially shoddy business, take over his precious Donwell?" questioned Rob.

"Because for the past four years, Will has been trying to poach me to Donwell but I didn't want to leave Highbury. He sees it as a good way to kill two birds with one stone. If we decide to take his deal, then we have job security."

"You mean _you _will have job security," muttered Rob.

"Then what do you suppose we do, Rob?" said a pale Jane frostily, speaking for the first time. "I doubt you could ever come up with a viable course of action. I, for one, support George in merging with Donwell. It's the only course of action."

"Me too!" clucked Miss Bates. "Mr. Knightley has never failed me, so I trust in his good judgment, and will follow him wherever he decides to go. The mistakes of Mr. Knightley's father do not change my unshakeable confidence in him to do the right thing."

"I'm with you, George," said Taylor serenely, giving him a reassuring smile.

"Me too, mate," added Harry. "I trust you."

"Harriet? Rob?" asked George.

Harriet tremulously nodded and Rob merely grunted his obviously reluctant assent.

George turned his eyes to Emma. "Em?"

Emma's face was stone. She had never felt more disappointed, yet she could see the acute look of torture in his eyes. She could see how the disintegration of the company was killing him. "Have you discussed it with my father?"

"I'm going to see him tonight."

"Right."

"What do you think about this whole thing?"

"What do I think?"

George nodded.

"I think that allowing the hard work of my father to wash away and sell out to Donwell is absolutely _crap_!" and with that, Emma stormed out of the conference room and fled to the toilets. She barely made her way into a cubicle before she burst into tears.

* * *

About fifteen minutes later, a soft tap sounded on Emma's toilet cubicle door. "Emma honey, it's me, Taylor. Please open the door."

Emma reluctantly opened the door. Taylor immediately enfolded her in her arms, stroking her hair like a mother. Emma sniffled, feeling ridiculous.

"I can't believe George is selling out."

"He's got no other choice. He showws us the company books after you left, and I'm surprised that Highbury stayed afloat as long as it did."

"George didn't even tell me."

"Because he didn't want you to worry."

"I feel so betrayed."

"Oh Em, you know this is killing George. Think how guilty he must feel about his father's actions and his own feelings of inadequacy. He will look after all of us, and ensure that we will not be left out in the cold."

Emma wiped at her eyes with a scrunched piece of tissue paper. "I'm supposed to be junior partner yet I wasn't even consulted."

"Darling, you are only twenty-one. You know that your dad made you junior partner so you could shadow George and learn the ropes, but you're hardly in the position to make big decisions about the company."

"How come you're not angry?"

"Because I know what this is costing George and the toll this burden has taken on him. I would've acted in exactly the same fashion if I were in his shoes. He was worried about all of us and you know that he hasn't got a selfish bone in his body."

"Well, what about getting the head honcho job at Donwell—that doesn't sound very altruistic to me."

Taylor stepped back from Emma and held her at arms length, staring straight into her eyes. "Emma, please try to see this from George's perspective…please go and talk to him now—he's in his office."

Emma swallowed. "Okay. I will."

Taylor kissed her forehead. "Good."

* * *

Emma knocked on George's office door.

"Come on in," came his weary voice.

Emma entered and as soon as George saw her, he rose from his seat to meet her. His face was agonised. "Please Em, try to understand. I've been forced into this position—I certainly didn't want to sell out but I have no other choice. You know that I will look after you and the others, and ensure that your transition to Donwell is smooth."

Emma deliberately looked at him blankly. "You won't have to worry about my transition to Donwell."

"Why's that?"

"Because I'm not planning to continue in advertising. I've decided that this is a sign that I should do something else with my life."

George stared at her in shock.

**Sorry to leave you on a cliffhanger. Some of you may wonder why I chose to have Highbury close, but it will enable me to develop the Emma/Frank plotline and explain why George (like Mr. Knightley in the book) thinks that Frank was having great influence ****over her. Also, my inclusion of the E/G dream sequence attempted to convey the unconscious intimate connection that Emma feels towards George, and why his failure to tell her about Highbury's financial trouble feels like such a betrayal to her.**

**Please review and tell me what you think!**


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